Broken
by Nyiestra
Summary: While Danny struggles against his own personal demons, the Reagan family pulls together to protect Erin from a very real threat.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Broken  
><strong>Summary:<strong> While Danny struggles against his own personal demons, the Reagan family pulls together to protect Erin from a very real threat.  
><strong>Warning:<strong> This is my first Blue Bloods fic, but if you've followed me on other fandoms, you know I don't pull punches. This is classified as angst for a reason. Deals with sexual assault, alcoholism, and emotional problems. If you need more details before reading, please message me.  
><strong>AN:** First in an arc of at last three stories.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> As much as I would love to own Danny Reagan (and the rest of them), I don't. All in fun; no money made.

**-1-**

"Hey." The single syllable was long and drawn-out, and Erin didn't need to look at the way Linda hugged herself, holding her thick, cable-knit sweater tight against her body, to know that something was wrong.

Erin guided Nicky ahead of her up the sidewalk. "Hi, Aunt Linda!"

"Hi, honey." Linda only tightened her arms, though her smile was genuine—if small.

"Why don't you run and find Jack and Sean, huh?" Erin suggested. Nicky hopped the steps and turned as she reached the doorway, the look on her face making it clear that she knew she was being sent away so the grown-ups could talk. But she went without objection, and Erin smiled at her retreating back. She'd raised herself a good kid. "What's up?"

Linda looked past her to the empty street, and for a moment Erin wondered if she'd have to pry it out of her sister-in-law. She rubbed her hands up and down her wool-clad arms as she lowered herself down to the top step. "Danny."

Erin raised an eyebrow as she sat down beside her sister-in-law. That was a loaded answer. Marriages were hard enough – Lord knew, Erin knew that. But throwing NYPD into the mix upped the ante considerably. Add to that everything else that made her brother Danny, Danny, and there was no telling what was wrong. "Where is he?"

"Charlie's."

Erin glanced at her watch and winced. Three o'clock on a Saturday. "How long has he been there?"

"Before lunch." Linda opened and closed her hands and then nodded to the empty curb, where Danny usually parked. "He drove. He could be anywhere now. But he's probably still there."

"Damn."

"Yeah." Linda brought her fingers, steepled, to her lips, and stared out at the street. "He's been… not himself, lately."

Erin didn't say anything. She knew what Linda was talking about; she'd been watching Danny the last few weeks, seen his temper grow shorter and a return of the darkness in his eyes that had been there when he first came home from Iraq. She didn't know what the trigger was, not for sure, but it'd all started with the Marine's death a couple of months earlier, and gone downhill from there. It'd been a tough few months all around, and catching Joe's killer hadn't seemed to give Danny the closure the rest of them had found.

"He doesn't… I don't think he wants the boys to see him… like that." Linda scrubbed her hands over her face and exhaled, hard. "I don't know what's worse. I don't want them to, either, but—"

"But at least if he's here, you know he's not doing anything stupid." At least, nothing worse than drowning himself in booze on a Saturday afternoon.

"Yeah."

"Have you tried to talk to him?" Erin asked the question with some trepidation; stubborn bull-headedness was a distinctly Reagan trait and Danny had more than his fair share. Linda was strong enough to hold her own with her husband, and Erin had never known her to back down from him, but if she'd asked, the conversation wouldn't have been pretty.

Linda laughed bitterly. "That's why he took off today. He was out until last call last night, alone. It's happening more and more, and I just… I had to ask him why."

Judging by her tone, Danny hadn't offered much of an answer. It didn't surprise her. "What…?"

"That I wouldn't understand." Linda exhaled through pursed lips. "I asked him how I possibly could when he won't talk to me. I've been a cop's wife long enough to know that there are things… that I'll never really know what he's feeling, but…"

Erin knew that sentiment well. Her role as an ADA put her a step closer to the inside than Linda was, but she wasn't a cop. And she wasn't sure that even Joe… Jamie, hell, even her father could understand where Danny's head was most of the time. "He's had a hard time." Erin found Linda's hand, squeezing lightly. Linda didn't answer.

#

As Jamie stepped into the dark, stale interior of Charlie's, he was glad he'd stopped to change out of his uniform. The place wasn't a law enforcement hangout, more of a locals bar, but his face drew enough nods of recognition. His blues would have drawn more than he wanted to deal with, particularly given the reason he was here.

And that reason currently sat at the bar, a line of empties, labels stripped, in front of him. Danny had called almost an hour ago, looking for a ride home. It was the third time in as many weeks, and rapidly approaching time that Jamie said something other than, "Sure, where are you?" But he didn't want his older brother driving home drunk rather than calling for a lift.

"Hey, Dan." He clapped his older brother lightly on the shoulder. "You all paid up?"

"Jus' about." Danny slid off his stool, leaning heavily against both the bar and Jamie.

Jamie paid the rest of Danny's tab, and then manhandled him out the door. He got Danny into his car, and then he checked Danny's, making sure it was secure enough to say there overnight. "Let's get you home."

Both previous times, Danny had made him stop a couple blocks away, insisting on walking the rest of the way back. This time, Jamie didn't give him a choice. He pulled up in front of the house and killed the ignition, looking over at his brother. "Danny?"

"Thanks."

Before Danny could get out of the car, the front door opened and Linda stepped out, Erin behind her. Neither of them looked surprised to see Danny, and both seemed only marginally surprised to see him. Linda crossed the lawn to hug Danny, and over his shoulder said, "Thanks for bringing him home, Jamie."

"No problem." He shifted foot to foot. This was Danny's secret to tell, but that didn't stop Jamie feeling guilty for keeping it.

Linda took custody of her husband, leading him inside without protest, and Erin came to join Jamie on the curb. "I'm guessing this isn't the first time?"

"Third." Jamie dragged a hand through his hair. "Think he's getting worse."

Erin leaned into him and turned to look back at the house. "Yeah."


	2. Chapter 2

**Allie & Allison****:** Couldn't respond to your reviews via PM, so I just wanted to thank you both for reading!

**-2-**

Danny set Jack down on his father's couch, the little one's head lolling to the side in sleep. He frowned and pressed the back of his hand against Jack's forehead, and then glanced up at Linda. "He's a little warm."

"Yeah, he came home sick Friday. I brought some children's Tylenol." There was no reproach in her voice, nothing to suggest she might be thinking that he should know that already, that he would if he'd been home and sober since then.

"We'll let him sleep."

Danny moved to follow Linda toward the dining room, only to find himself intercepted by his father in the hallway outside. Linda went on ahead, not looking back, and he wondered if his wife had knowingly led him into the ambush. His dad shoved his hands in his pockets, and nodded a head toward the study. Danny followed without a word.

Door mostly closed, his dad leaned against his desk. "You ever make time to see that doctor, Danny?"

"Dad—"

"I talked to your brother last night. He said you've been spending an awful lot of time out of the house… in the bars?"

"It's been a tough couple of months." Danny spread his hands and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm fine." At the skeptical look in his Dad's eyes, Danny sighed. "I'll _be_ fine."

"You hit a bar on a Saturday afternoon, Danny. Five o'clock, you had to call for Jamie to drive you home—for the third time in three weeks." He removed his glasses and crossed his arms, glasses dangling between two fingers. "And you're fine?"

"I'll _be_ fine," Danny repeated.

His father nodded slowly, skepticism written all over his face. "You sober now?"

Danny gritted his teeth and stared down at his shoes, counting to ten before he said something to make things worse. As he got down to one, he lifted his eyes. "I drove my wife, and my boys, over here today. You think—" Danny nearly bit through his lip as he shook his head. "I'm fine, dad." He walked out before his father could say another word.

#

Linda watched Danny carefully during dinner. He stuck to water—unexpectedly—and ate little and talked less, all the while studiously avoiding looking in his father's direction. Linda had no idea what Frank had said to him, but whatever it was, Danny was angry.

He hadn't been angry with her when she talked to him, when he'd stalked out of the house. She wasn't sure what he'd been, exactly—despondent, maybe—but he wasn't angry with her.

She knew Frank had meant well, and he was usually pretty tactful, but looking at her husband now she wondered if he'd just made things worse.

Under the table, she reached for Danny's hand and squeezed it lightly. He linked his fingers with hers, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.

As Linda reached across him for another roll, she murmured, "I love you."

He didn't need to reply; the look in his eyes, not as bright as it used to be but still there, was enough.

She rose to help Erin clear the table, as Frank beckoned Danny out of the room. "How's he doing?" Erin placed her and Nicky's plates in the sink, and nodded over her shoulder to the dining room.

"Slept it off last night, and I think he's been up since about three a.m." Linda ran the water and poured in a little soap, then grabbed an apron to protect her dress from the dishwater. "I heard him get up, and just left him alone."

Erin nodded slowly and glanced around the kitchen, making sure they were free from little ears. "He needs help, Linda."

"I know." She lowered her hands into the warm, soapy water and started on the wineglasses. "I can't make him, Erin. I can't even—" She pressed her lips together and rinsed the first glass, placing it upside down in the rack. "What am I supposed to do?"

Erin looked back toward the dining room and shook her head. "I wish I knew."

#

"Sit down, Danny."

Danny did as ordered. He lowered himself slowly, and his dad leaned back against the desk. Danny felt uncomfortably like a suspect looking at interrogation at the police commissioner's hands, rather than a man facing an intervention from his own father.

"Did I pass your test?" It'd been impossible to miss the way everyone around the table watched, waiting for him to… pound a bottle of wine, or something.

His father opened his hands. "There was no test. You know better than that."

"Funny. That's not how it looked from where I was sitting."

His dad's lips thinned, and he looked down at his clasped hands. "Dan, it's your family's—your father's—prerogative to worry about you. That's never going to stop. To see my son in trouble, and know that I can't fight this for you—it's one of the hardest things I've ever had to do." Danny opened his mouth to argue that he wasn't in trouble, but his father spoke right over him. It was probably just as well; he'd never managed to convincingly lie to his dad. "I can't do this for you, Danny. I can't make you ask for help, and even if I could, I think we both know it wouldn't do any good. So I'm just going to ask you to make me a promise."

His dad removed his glasses and finally looked up, and Danny's mouth went dry at the look in his eyes. "What?" The single syllable came out rougher than intended, and Danny struggled to swallow.

"If it gets too hard—_when_ it gets too hard—and you pick up your gun for maybe the last time, you call someone. If not me, or Linda, then Erin, or Jamie, or your partner. But you call someone, Danny, and you give us the chance to try to help you."

The looks from his brother and sister, his wife and his dad—it all clicked into place and Danny's stomach clenched painfully. "Dad, I'm not—"

"I lost one son, Danny. I won't lose another—especially not to his own hand."

Danny lurched to his feet, barely steadying himself on the corner of the desk. "Dad, that's… I'm not thinking about suicide." He couldn't say it hadn't ever entered his mind. It had, probably more than was strictly healthy, but never reached the point where he'd call it serious consideration. "I swear to you, if I ever am—"

His father caught his arm, and pulled him into a quick, tight hug. "All I'm asking for, Danny."

"I promise, Dad."


	3. Chapter 3

**allison** - Thanks so much for reading!

**ddub** - You have messaging disabled, so I couldn't reply directly, but thanks for the review. Here is more for you!

**claire** - Thanks!

**A/N:** Here's some actual plot for you - and more Danny angst, of course. Because I love him so. Also, fair warning: I will **try** to update at least one more time before I leave on my honeymoon, but then you guys will have to go at least two weeks without an update. Don't think I've abandoned you - I will just be getting myself a tan in the Caribbean!

**-3-**

"How was your weekend?" It was an innocent question, coming from Jackie, but Danny couldn't stifle his glare. She lifted an eyebrow, clearly not in the mood to deal with his crap on a cold, rainy, Monday morning—before her coffee, no less—and glared right back. "I'm guessing pretty great."

"Dinner yesterday was the Reagan family version of an intervention." Danny made a face, and then reached for the coffee pot, offering it to her first. She took it without a thank you, and filled her cup nearly to the brim.

"Intervention?"

"Yeah." He filled his cup and replaced the carafe, frowning down at his mug. The drawback of taking coffee black—nothing to cool it down. He leaned a shoulder against the wall and glanced around. Not that drinking problems—not that he had one—were taboo around police bullpens, but he didn't need feeding the rumor mill. "Hey, let me ask you something."

"Sure." Jackie topped off her cup with milk and tasted it.

"You think I drink too much?"

There went the eyebrow again, though not as hostile as before. "For a regular guy or for somebody who's seen as much action as you have?"

Danny's jaw tightened and he looked away. "Guess I got my answer."

"Reagan." Her free hand caught his sleeve, turning him back around. "You got more right to have a couple drinks than anybody else I know." She shrugged. "Maybe there's something they're seeing that I'm not. But from where I'm standing, I don't think you're any worse off than any other cop."

Cops—detectives, especially, and those who worked the more grisly beats like homicide and major case—had a reputation in the movies for being hard-drinking, hard-living folks, and Danny knew from experience that it was well-deserved. He knew how his lifestyle—their lifestyle—might look to the average person.

But it wasn't an average person who'd sat him down in the study last night and all but asked him if he was thinking of eating his gun. It was his father, a cop himself and an ex-Marine to boot.

"Reagan." Jackie's voice pulled him out of his head, and he blinked. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He shook himself out of thoughts and nodded. "I'm good. Thanks."

#

Erin hesitated at the near end of the homicide bullpen; Danny was nowhere in sight. His partner, though, was at her desk, and Erin headed over. "Hey. Danny around?"

The look Jackie fixed her with wasn't exactly welcoming. "He just went down to evidence. Shouldn't be long. You need anything? Coffee?"

"No, thanks." Erin tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was in the building, thought I'd see if he wanted to grab lunch."

Jackie nodded to herself, a nearly full coffee cup held in both hands, and didn't smile. "If you're checking up on him, he's fine."

Erin's eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"He told me—"

"What are you doing here?" Danny's voice, the irritation readily apparent, interrupted them.

Erin forced a smile, though she didn't feel much like smiling in the face of the nearly palpable anger rolling off him. "Was in the neighborhood and thought I'd see if my big brother would let me take him to lunch."

"And maybe ask my partner if I'm drinking on the job, while you're at it?" He kept his voice low, the accusation inaudible to those milling around.

Erin matched his tone. "I would never." And not only because she knew better than to think Jackie would ever sell her partner out—not even to his sister. "It's just lunch." It wasn't, really, but it had nothing to do with Danny, his drinking, or whatever had gone on between him and their father over the weekend. "Please."

Danny set his jaw and looked down at the folders in his hand, and the disaster that was his desk. "Yeah, all right." He made it sound like a major sacrifice, and Erin's stomach flipped over as she looked away, biting her lip.

"Look, if you don't have time—"

Something, despite her efforts to keep her voice level and her expression open, must have tipped him off. His eyes softened as he stacked the files precariously atop several others. "I'm good. Nothing that can't wait." He nodded at Jackie once before falling into step next to Erin, heading for the exit.

As they waited for the elevator, Erin studied Danny, knowing full well she was subject to the same scrutiny. He finally turned his attention to the closed elevator doors, and she reached out a hand to draw his eyes back to her. "I would never ask her that, because I know you."

"That why everybody stared at me all through dinner yesterday? Including you?"

"Not saying I'm not worried, Danny." After a second's thought she admitted, "Not even saying I don't think you'd drink on the job." The doors opened and she stepped inside, pulling him with her before he could change his mind. "But I know that the first time you did would be the last, because no matter what you're dealing with right now, you're still my big brother, and I know that if it gets that bad, you'll ask for help."

He didn't answer, didn't look at her as the elevator reached the ground floor—but he stayed by her side as she headed for the front door. He didn't talk until they were in the last free booth at Everest, their usual orders in. "Okay, so, this isn't just lunch." His eyes narrowed and he looked about to slide out of the booth, so she talked fast. "But it's not about you. I need… I gotta tell you something, and I need you to promise not to tell dad."

The tension fled his face in an instant, though his body stayed taut, alert. "You know I can't promise that, not without knowing what's up."

"I know. But, please, just—don't make him your first call, Danny, is all I'm asking."

"That depends, Erin."

"I know." She took a long, shaky breath and then bent over to pull a manila folder from her briefcase and slid it across the table. Keeping one hand on top of it for a moment, she met his eyes. "I apologize in advance. I'm sure this is more than you'd like to see." Not that her brother hadn't seen just about everything, in the line, but still…

Danny's irritation and anger disappeared instantly, replaced by almost tangible worry. Erin withdrew her hand and watched his face as she opened it. His eyes widened quickly and then darkened in anger.

It was a black and white photo. She stood in her living room, shirt off and stepping out of her skirt. Danny lifted the photo, peering closely at the edges. "Was this—"

"My curtains were closed. There's, ah, another taken through my bedroom window." She wasn't offering that one up unless he demanded it. Her big brother didn't need to see _that_ much of her.

"Where was Nicky?" Danny's voice shook with ill-concealed rage.

"She was at her dad's. It was… last Friday. That skirt…" She stopped talking when she noticed the tremble in her own words. Danny caught her hand and squeezed. "She's staying there. I called him as soon as I got this."

"How'd you get it?"

"Interoffice envelope. It's in my desk. I don't—it's probably useless to try to figure out who it came from."

"Probably. Except it means it's someone in the building, probably someone you work with in the DA's office." Danny released her hand and tapped the photo. "This the first one?"

Erin shook her head and reached across to close the folder. Every time she looked at it, she felt like she needed a shower. "Twice before, but they were just taken on the street, during the day. Creepy, but not..." she nodded toward the folder. "Not that invasive."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Danny lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You gotta report this, and it's gonna take a whole five minutes after that for dad to find out his only daughter's got a stalker." He shook his head. "You gotta tell him, Erin."

"Danny—"

"You know what he'll do if he finds out I kept this from him? What he's probably going to do just finding out you kept quiet this long?" Danny broke off abruptly as the waitress brought their sandwiches. He shoved a potato chip in his mouth as she walked away. "This guy's taking pictures of yo9u in your bedroom, in your underwear. This is dangerous."

Why do you think I'm here? You think I want my brother seeing me in my bra? I'm scared, Danny. I had to send Nicky away. My daughter—God, what if she'd been home? What if that was her? You don't have to try to frighten me. I'm already there."

"I know, kid." Danny wrapped his hand around her wrist. "I know."

#

The worried looks be damned, Danny grabbed a beer before heading for the study for the second time in as many days. He popped the cap and hung by the doorway. Jamie watched him, and Erin stared, lips pressed together.

Their father looked at all three of them in turn, eyes all but skipping over Jamie, who looked suitably confused. When nothing was forthcoming, he folded his arms. "What's this all about?"

Danny took a long pull off his beer, and then tipped it at Erin, ignoring the disapproval he could see in his father's eyes, even though it didn't show in his face. "You gonna?"

Her cheeks flushed, and he knew she was steeling herself against the inevitable request to see the photos that had tipped her over the edge. He'd made her show him the one of her in her bedroom, and firmly hoped never to see his sister half-naked again. The guy had climbed a fire escape ladder.

Danny pushed off the wall and took another long drink. "Erin's got a stalker. Photos through interoffice mail—her undressing, living room and bedroom." At the unasked question in his father's eyes he added, "Guy went up the fire escape. Based on the pictures, Nicky hasn't been around when this scumbag had his camera out, but it's possible he's been at the house when she was there."

Danny watched the struggle play out on his father's face, but like any good officer learned to do early on, he damped down on the personal reaction, professionalism winning out. Danny wished he'd gotten a little more of his father's self-control. "Where is Nicky now?"

"With her father. I got the pictures this morning and called him right afterward. I told him that I was going to be buried the next few days and asked him to take her. I told her the same thing. I didn't—I don't want to scare her."

"Good. She's staying there until we catch this guy. And you're not going home."

"Dad, all my things—"

"The boys will bring you by the house and keep an eye out while you pack a suitcase and get together whatever you need for work."

Danny shook his head. "Dad, we pull her out of the house and we probably lose any shot at finding this guy—or at least make it a lot harder. We'll be stuck trying to pick him out of the crowds." He dreaded the thought of trying to protect his sister on the busy city streets. It'd mean keeping someone with Erin during the day, no exceptions, since daytime would be the only shot he'd have at her. And that would mean relying on someone other than Danny himself or Jamie, and Danny was loathe to take that chance with his little sister.

Jamie nodded his agreement, no doubt for the same reasons, and Erin did as well, probably because she was just stubborn enough not to want chased out of her own house, even if someone was hanging out at her windows with a camera.

Their father sighed heavily, but at long last, he nodded. "All right. You two will take shifts?" He looked from Danny to Jamie and back, his gaze going pointedly to the beer Danny still held loosely by the neck. Irritated, and not caring that it wasn't helping his case, Danny tipped it back and drained it. "I already told Linda I won't be home too many nights the next week or so." His wife hadn't been thrilled, but she understood—even without him telling her that it wasn't a case, but Erin keeping him out of the house.

"I'm on days the next couple weeks; shouldn't be a problem."

"If it is, you let me know. I'd just as soon we keep this to non-official channels, but a threat to the life of an assistant district attorney certainly warrants pulling a few strings, regardless of whether she's the police commissioner's daughter." He folded his arms and fixed narrowed eyes on Danny. "How long has this been going on?"

Danny held up his hands in self-defense. "I found out about this at lunchtime today."

"It's been a couple of weeks. The first few photos were just on the street, in front of city hall, that sort of thing. It was creepy, but I wasn't scared until the ones today."

"Let's see them."

Danny pulled the folder from the bookshelf where he'd left it and bypassed Jamie, handing it to his father. Erin flushed and looked away, but he couldn't have known from their dad's expression that it wasn't just any victim he was looking at in her underwear. Jamie made no move to take the folder, and instead reached out and rubbed Erin's shoulder supportively. She reached up and covered his hand with hers, intertwining their fingers briefly.

"Jamie, you take tonight. That okay?"

Jamie's face showed his surprise, and Erin did an even worse job of concealing hers. Danny nearly bit through his tongue keeping his mouth shut, and then spun on his heel and walked out. The empty bottle hit the sink so loud he thought it might have shattered, and he was almost out the door before his father caught up to him.

"If you think you're getting in that car—"

Danny yanked his arm free. "You want me to do a field sobriety test, dad? Z, Y, X, W, V—"

"Knock it off."

"I know my limits."

"Lately, you could've fooled me. Danny, we have no idea who this man is, or what he wants with Erin. One beer may not be much, but it means you're more impaired than I'd like you to be if he's there waiting."

"Fine. Whatever. You don't want me there; I don't need to be here either." Before his father could say another word, Danny was in the car and flying down the street. He didn't miss Jamie and Erin standing together in the open doorway, watching him go.


	4. Chapter 4

**allison** - Thank you!

**A/N:** More than likely the last update before my wedding. A bit more plot for you...

**-4-**

"Thanks for picking her up." Danny's greeting to Jamie was stiff at best, and Jamie clearly wasn't sure how to react.

"No problem." He stood and shouldered his duffel, and gave Erin a quick hug before turning back to their older brother. "I haven't seen anybody, not last night or today."

"Figured I woulda heard if you had." Erin offered Danny a smile before heading to the kitchen to dump the rest of her beer. She'd expected to finish it before he arrived, and had no intention of tempting him. When she turned around after pouring the remains down the sink, he was standing in the kitchen doorway, eyes shuttered.

"You didn't need to do that."

"I was finished."

His expression and body language conveyed his skepticism easily. "Sister I know doesn't waste alcohol."

Erin gritted her teeth, turning away a little longer than necessary to set the bottle down on the sink board. "Danny, I don't want to fight with you."

"Then don't."

She leaned back against the counter and folded her arms. "Danny, what happened last night with dad—whatever happened after dinner on Sunday—you need to understand—"

"I understand perfectly." Danny shoved his hands in his pockets. "Used to be my word was good enough for the people in this family; obviously, it's not any more. I don't need a law degree to figure that out for myself."

"This is not about your word. It's about we're worried!" She swung her left hand toward the empty bottle. "I like a drink or two myself when things get rough but Jesus, Danny! You're leaving the house so your kids don't have to see you too drunk to stand up, and you don't think that's a big red flag?"

He walked out of the kitchen without responding, and she knew she'd cut him deep. Danny was a lot of things, but devoted to his family topped the list.

Of course, that was why she'd said it. She held out hope that his sons, if nothing else, would make things click for him.

Erin found him in the living room, peeking carefully through the blinds to check the street in front of her house. "I'm scared to look outside; I think I'd have a heart attack if I opened the curtains and saw someone staring inside."

"You won't. He'd see you coming and hide if he was that close."

That didn't make her feel better. It didn't help that even after he'd certainly cleared the street, he didn't turn around. "Used to be, you'd talk to us." She and Danny had their moments, now and when they were growing up. But he'd always been there, and she'd tried to do the same.

It'd been harder since he'd come back from Iraq, but she still tried—even when it hurt.

"Used to be, you'd listen." He still didn't turn.

"We are listening, Danny. You're just not talking." Hesitantly, she crossed the living room, stopping a few inches behind him to rest a hand on his shoulder. "What happened with dad on Sunday?"

She couldn't see his face, but she could see his Adam's apple jump as he swallowed. "He asked me if I'm thinking about eating my gun."

Her breath caught, and only then did he finally face her. "I'm not." His voice was firm, as sure as she'd heard it in a long time.

"Not at all?" Erin didn't care that her voice was shaking.

His eyes darted to the side for just a second or two before he met her gaze again. "Not seriously."

It was an honest answer, at least, even if it did nothing to help the sudden nausea. "Danny—"

He held her by both arms, staring into her eyes. "Erin, I'm not gonna lie to you. I think about it, sometimes, when things aren't going so good—when a case gets to me, or…" He shrugged, and she knew he wanted to look away but he didn't. "But it's never been more than a passing thought. I swear to you. And if it ever is, I'll call you, or dad, or Jamie or Linda or whoever picks up the damn phone first. I swear. If I have any control over it, I'm not going to leave my boys without a father."

#

"You're in early." Jackie sipped her coffee. Her partner looked like hell.

"My sister's an early riser, just like Dad. Don't know where I came from." He hung his jacket cockeyed over the back of his chair and all but collapsed into it, resting his forehead on the heels of his hands. "You know how you don't sleep well the night before you got an early flight or something?"

She lifted her eyebrow. Maybe she was a little tired too, because he wasn't making a whole lot of sense. "Where you flying to?"

"I'm not. It's… I stayed at Erin's, last night. She's having some trouble with somebody. I could sleep but—"

_Some trouble with somebody. _That was appropriately vague. Even so, Jackie understood what he was getting at. "You're too wound up to sleep well, even if you manage to shut your eyes."

"Yeah." He looked grateful for the understanding, and she wondered if things were really as tense in his family as they'd seemed when Erin had come by on Monday.

"Reagan, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Tired is all."

Before she could say anymore—like suggesting maybe he take a day and get some rest, knowing full-well he wouldn't listen—the sergeant materialized at the side of her desk. "Body, Tribeca Cinema; ME's already on sight."

Danny was already on his feet, a little color returning to his face. He still looked close to falling asleep, but not quite as bad as when he'd walked in the door. Nonetheless, as Jackie pulled her on coat she said, "I'll drive."

#

Danny ducked under the crime scene tape, holding it up for Jackie to follow, and then turned around to find himself face-to-face with his brother. Jamie didn't waste time on greetings. "Victim's Elli Marx. Staff found her this morning when they came in to clean up after a wedding last night."

Danny glanced at his watch, double-checking before he said something stupid, and Jackie beat him to it. "A wedding on a Tuesday?"

Jamie shrugged. "Manager says they offer discounts for weddings that aren't on the weekends. The bride and groom—Carina Marx and Scott McGregor, I got their contact information, but they're already on a plane to the Riviera Maya—met here, wanted a small wedding and saved ten grand by having it on a Tuesday night."

Jamie led them through a room still half set with chairs and tables, threading his way easily between the CSU folks already set up. Jackie let out a low whistle when they stopped in front of a storage closet. "She's a bridesmaid? And nobody noticed she was missing?"

Danny looked at the girl, neck bent at an unnatural angle, hair that had probably once been done up fancy now in tangles around her head, and then at his partner. "How do you know she's a bridesmaid?"

"Because no self-respecting woman would wear that unless somebody put a gun to her head." Jackie gestured to the puffy pink dress. A split, not part of the design, ran nearly the length of the skirt.

"We talking rape and murder?" Danny asked, eyebrow raised in his brother's direction, but his partner answered.

"He wasn't getting anywhere fast, not with her in that skirt." Jackie dropped her head to the side, frowning. "Probably the intent, though."

"Family been notified?"

Jamie shook his head. "Not yet. I got home addresses and phone numbers from the manager, for the sister—the bride—and her husband, and the parents." Jamie held out his notebook, and Danny copied the information down and then shoved it in his pocket before turning to Jackie.

"Let's go talk to her parents. I want to know why nobody noticed Cinderella here didn't make it home last night."


	5. Chapter 5

**allison - **Well, this one won't give you too much on Danny and the family - it's a bit more about their new case. But I hope you enjoy!**  
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**Ryans daughter - **Here you are! Thanks for reading!

**-5-**

Jackie pulled to a stop in front of the address Jamie had given for Mr. and Mrs. Marx, a brownstone in the Upper West Side. She killed the ignition and then looked sideways at him. "I know this name, Marx."

"Yeah, I thought it was familiar too. BJ Marx is an investment banker; doesn't look like his wife works." Danny pocketed his phone and opened the door. "All reports, this guy's worth millions, and his daughter's worried enough about money she gets married on a Tuesday night?"

Jackie shrugged. "I got an uncle who owns a couple of restaurants. Not a millionaire, but he's got more money than I'd know what to do with. He follows you around and shuts off the lights behind you."

Danny gestured to the house—easily a couple million bucks worth of property. "This look like the home of somebody who follows you around shutting off lights?"

"Probably not." She reached the door first and held down the doorbell longer than strictly necessary. The voice that called through the door, inquiring as to who was visiting, was too young to belong to the mother of their murder victim.

Jackie held her badge up. "Detective Curatola, NYPD, and my partner, Detective Reagan. We're here to see Anna Marx."

A girl, couldn't be more than twenty, in a typical black and white maid's uniform, opened the door, gesturing them wordlessly inside. They followed her up a flight of stairs and into a formal living room, where she stopped and turned back to face them. "Just a moment, please."

Jackie glanced around the room slowly, barely allowing her thoughts to show on her face. "Bet you twenty they weren't even at the daughter's wedding."

"No bet." Judging by the art on the walls and the expensive-looking vases sitting on top of ornately carved shelves, these weren't the type of people who would sign off on anything less than a ballroom wedding for their little girl.

"How can I help you?"

Anna Marx wore a floor-length white skirt, and a fitted red sweater. Her hair and makeup—along with her figure—were perfect, and she didn't look much older than Elli. Jackie turned slightly as she approached Anna, and mouthed, "Second wife."

"At least," Danny mouthed back, following her. "Mrs. Marx, I'm Detective Reagan, NYPD; this is my partner, Detective Curatola. We're here to talk to you about your… stepdaughter? Elli."

"I haven't seen her, if you're looking for her."

"We know exactly where she is, ma'am. Elli was killed, sometime last night or early this morning, at her sister's wedding."

Anna lifted her chin, looking away from them out the big front window. She crossed her arms and pressed her lips together. "Have you spoken to her father?" That wasn't grief. Danny didn't know quite what it _was_, but it wasn't grief.

"No, not yet." Danny gestured to the white leather sofa. "May we sit down? We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"You should really ask Brian. I'm… hardly a part of the girls' lives."

"Even still, we'd like to ask you a few questions. You never know what may be important."

"That's fine. But you're wasting your time." She perched on the edge of a recliner, arranging her skirt carefully. "What would you like to know?"

"Were you at Carina's wedding last night?"

"No. Brian and I were not invited. Brian… doesn't approve of Scott, and Carina refused to ask him to sign a prenuptial agreement. They haven't spoken in months, she and her father. And Elli, of course, took her sister's side. They're so caught up in the idea of love, they can't fathom why a… _struggling_ songwriter might be after nothing more than her family's money."

Danny resisted the urge—barely—to ask if she'd signed a prenup herself. "Do you know if Elli was seeing anyone?"

"I don't believe so, no. She was, for a while, dating Scott's cousin, a far more… suitable young man. In law school, actually. Corporate law." She smiled. "Brian was very fond of him, and very disappointed when they stopped seeing each other. He was probably at the wedding. If you can't get in touch with Carina, he can probably tell you nearly as much as she can about what was going on in Elli's life."

"I think that about does it." Jackie stood, and Danny followed her lead. "Here's my card. If you think of anything else, or if you hear from Carina, please give me a call."

"Certainly." Anna rose, but made no move to show them out. "Alexi—"

Jackie interrupted quickly. "No need to bother her, ma'am. We can find our own way down."

"Very well." When the maid appeared in the doorway, Anna shook her head and the girl disappeared just as quickly. "My husband should be in his office, if you'd like to speak to him."

"Thank you, ma'am." Danny started for the door, Jackie a step behind him.

"Oh, detectives?" They stopped and turned in one motion. "How did Elli die?"

Jackie arched an eyebrow at Danny before answering. "Her neck was broken."

Anna nodded to herself, no more emotion on her face then than a few moments earlier. "Thank you."

They made the trip down the stairs and out to the car in silence. It wasn't until she was pulling away from the curb that Jackie spoke. "That was the weirdest notification call I've ever done. I've never—they usually at least pretend to give a damn, even if they don't. How does a family _get_ like that?"

"She's half the father's age. She don't like his daughters, and the feeling's probably mutual. They probably got married after the kids were out of the house, so there's no relationship."

His partner's eyes slid in his direction. "You talking from personal experience?"

Danny glanced over at her sharply as the car rolled to a stop at the corner. "Huh?"

"Your dad—he ever see anybody after your mom died?"

He shrugged. "A couple girlfriends, nobody serious—nobody we didn't like, if that's what you're asking." He paused thoughtfully. "But I don't see him falling for the kind of woman we wouldn't like."

"So no Anna Marx in your family's future?"

Danny barked a short laugh at the mental image of his father with a woman like the one they'd just spoken to. "_That_ will never happen."

"For your sake, I hope not. Okay, let's go see if daddy's a little more broken up about his daughter's murder, yeah?"

#

BJ Marx was every bit as distraught as Danny would have expected. He got the sense the man's absence from his daughter's wedding was driven by his wife, not by his own irritation with Carina's choice of a husband. He stared in abject disbelief when Jackie told him that the ME thought she'd been killed ten hours before she was found, her disappearance going unnoticed by her sister, new brother-in-law—or anyone else.

He never asked if they'd spoken to his wife.

After the father, they headed for Elli's boyfriend, with instructions from BJ on how to find. "NYU Law," Jackie murmured, looking over the steering wheel at the red brick building. "I mean, I know it isn't Harvard, but…"

"You're not gonna get me with that. _I_ kinda like knowing I outrank Harvard." He shot her a grin he didn't quite feel before getting out of the car. He checked his watch and leaned against the car, Jackie coming around to join him. "We got here right on time." The exodus started as a trickle—a couple students here, three at a time there—as the first of the late-morning classes let out. When the trickle turned to a flood, Danny pushed off the car. "Okay, keep an eye out."

Finding Dennis Brannan in the rush of students wasn't easy, and Jackie saw him first. He was deep in conversation with a young woman, the kind of argument Danny usually ignored when it erupted between Jamie and Erin. He knew the law as well as they did, but all the legalese, he could do without.

"Dennis Brannan?" Danny pulled back his jacket to show his badge, and the girl stepped aside, her eyes wide. Clearly, she was in no rush to put her legal education to practical use. "Detective Reagan. My partner, Detective Curatola. We need to ask you a few questions."

His face was expressionless, but not in a way that screamed out his guilt. Danny got the sense Brannan viewed this as a practice-run, real-world experience his classmates couldn't match yet. "May I ask what this is about?"

"Were you at Carina Marx's wedding last night?" Jackie asked.

Brannan frowned, and his eyes darted toward his companion. She rolled hers and looked away, and Danny filed that reaction away in the back of his mind.

"I was. Why?"

"Your ex-girlfriend was found dead this morning, stuffed in a closet with her neck broken." Jackie smiled sardonically. "We'd like to ask you a few questions. You have a minute?" Emotion—real, sharp, pain—flashed in Brannan's eyes for a split second; it was gone just as quickly as it appeared.

"I'll see you later." Ice dripped from the girl's voice, but she didn't seem remotely worried. More… pissed off. Had to be the new girlfriend—or the wannabe new girlfriend.

"Yes, I have time." No, 'You can't possibly think I had something to do with that.' "I was planning on getting lunch, but I don't think I'm really hungry anymore."

"Yeah, I bet you're not. You see Elli at the wedding last night?"

"She was a bridesmaid; everybody saw her." He chuckled lightly. "I assume you've seen the dress? The girls were all pretty hard to miss."

Danny couldn't deny that. "When was the last time you saw her?"

Brannan spread his hands, shrugging a little. "After they cut the cake; I danced with her close to the end of the party. So… nine-thirty or so, maybe?"

Jackie folded her arms. "You remember anybody talking to her, anybody she fought with, maybe?"

"Other than Carina? Not that I saw."

Danny's head came up fast. "She fought with her sister?"

"You said you saw the dress, right?"

Danny glanced at Jackie, who shrugged and nodded. "I wouldn't've killed my sister for putting me in something like that, but I might have threatened it five or ten times."

"It wasn't just the dress." Brannan shoved his hands into his pockets. "It was everything. Elli was in the middle between Carina and their dad, and she was sick of being there. And then Carina found out Elli told their dad about the wedding—where it was, when it was, all of that. She brought a card from him, a check for a thousand dollars. Carina flipped out."

Danny pulled his phone from his pocket. "One more thing. What were you doing from 9:30 until about midnight?"

"Mostly sleeping. I caught a cab from the theater when the wedding ended, and went straight home."

Jackie dug a business card out of her pocket and handed it over. "You remember anything else, you give us a call."

"I will." Brannan pocketed it and headed off down the street, in the same direction his girlfriend had gone.

Danny watched him go, nothing in his body language to suggest he was at all bothered by their conversation, or the realization that his ex-girlfriend had been found dead. "Looks like our number one suspect is on a freaking cruise ship."

Jackie looked down at her heavy coat and then flipped up one end of her scarf. "I could go for some bathing suit weather myself."

"Yeah, I can see Sarge signing right off on that expense report." He rolled his eyes and headed for the car.


	6. Chapter 6

**allison - **Thank you! That's what I'm going for. I'm afraid the case in this fic is really just a subplot, and ill-developed, as this story is really about Danny and, to a lesser degree, Erin. But hopefully it gets the job done.

**A/N: **A little bit of Erin, a little bit of case, and whole lotta Danny.

**-6-**

Danny walked into Erin's living room to find Jamie pacing back and forth, his face the picture of self-loathing. He knew that look; he'd seen it in the mirror more times than he cared to remember. Erin sat on the couch, a blanket around her shoulders. An interoffice envelope sat on the coffee table in front of her, two eight-by-ten glossies on top of that. He knew without looking what they were, but crossed to Erin's side and picked them up anyway as he sat down. She leaned into his side and he looped one arm around her shoulder.

The first had Erin in her pajamas, drawing back the comforter on her bed. The second was Erin, asleep, on her side facing the window. "When was this?"

"Monday night." Erin glanced at Jamie involuntarily, and Danny watched his shoulders slump even farther. "I changed the sheets before bed Tuesday night."

Jamie started towards them, stopping a couple feet away. "Danny, I'm—"

"Don't worry about it, kid. He probably saw you bring her home—hell, he probably saw us at lunch. He knew what you were there for, knew you'd clear the rooms. He waited long enough, then figured he was safe. Woulda happened to me, too. Coulda, last night, for all we know yet."

"What now?" Under the blanket, Erin rubbed her hands up and down her arms.

"Dad know?"

Jamie nodded. "He wants her to file a complaint, so we can get some uniform help. Said it'll still be you or me, or him, with her at nights though."

"I don't want that, Danny."

Danny looked down at her. His kid sister, not even safe in her own house, still holding her ground. "He can't make you do it, Erin, but it's probably the safest bet."

"I'm not gonna be a prisoner in my own house, Danny. I won't, not even for dad. Besides." She looked him squarely in the face for a second or two and then held Jamie's gaze for a lot longer. "I've got the best detail I could ask for right here." Jamie looked skeptical, despite her confidence, and Danny stood. He squeezed Erin's shoulder. "Be right back." He nodded Jamie to follow him into the kitchen.

"If I thought you screwed up, kid, I'd be the first one to tell you. You know that." Jamie nodded, but the way he kept his eyes on the ground suggested he believed otherwise. Danny chucked him under the chin, drawing his eyes upward. "I mean it. And we're gonna get this guy, you and me, okay?"

"You're telling Dad no on the extra detail?"

Danny jerked his head over his shoulder. "No. She is."

#

"The McGregors' flight gets in next Tuesday at midnight." Danny leaned back in his chair, one hand wrapped around a cup of long-cold coffee. He downed a few swallows of it anyway; on the other side of their desks, Jackie mimicked him.

"So, what, we're supposed to sit here on our hands til then?"

"Or try to find another suspect." It was hard to be sold on the sister for the murder without even talking to her. He just couldn't imagine a woman killing her sister for complaining too loudly about what she had to do for a wedding. Jackie seemed on board with the idea though; he wondered what bride had pissed her off so badly, and if the woman was still breathing.

And the flipping out over the card with a check for a grand—that made even less sense.

"I'm open to suggestions."

"Okay." Danny's feet hit the floor. "I think we need to find out who else she talked to, danced with—maybe a boyfriend nobody mentioned yet?"

"Maybe a boyfriend who wasn't crazy about seeing her dance with her ex?" Jackie asked, and shrugged. "Good a chance as any." Before she could say any more, her cell phone rang. "Curatola." She sipped her coffee, frowning and occasionally nodding to herself. "Yeah, okay, thanks." She dropped her phone onto the desk and rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. "ME says she's got a half-dozen broken bones, and a lot of bruising under all that tulle."

Danny frowned and brought up the crime scene photos out on the network. "There's nothing out of place in that room. Not to mention I think my sister's got a bigger closet at her place. Her ending up with a broken neck in that room was pushing it; no way there was a fight there."

"So she dies somewhere else, and the killer moves the body?"

Danny nodded. "Call CSU and tell 'em to go back over the place with a fine-toothed comb."

She smirked. "They're gonna love you, you know that?"

He grinned. From the looks of the place when they'd walked in, the staff hadn't even started putting the place back together, and with it a closed crime scene, they wouldn't have been able to make any progress. CSU'd have their hands full. But he could live with that. "Tell 'em they can join my fan club."

#

"So you're telling me we got nothing."

Jackie crossed her arms and frowned at her partner. "Blood that matches Elli Marx at the foot of a stairwell, and hair and fibers from at least a dozen people. Theater manager says people are instructed to stay out of the theater itself if they're not attending an event there, but we all know how well people listen, especially when they've been drinking. So yeah, basically, we got nothing." Jackie rubbed her eyes. "In fact, I think we got even less than we started with this morning."

Danny scowled at her, as if it was her fault the whole investigation so far had led them smack into one big brick wall. "Yeah? How's that?"

"If the bride's wearing a big white dress—and judging by those hideous bridesmaid dresses, she probably was—no way someone doesn't notice one, if she disappears, and two, if she's dragging her sister's body around and ends up with blood on her skirt." Jackie shook her head. "I'm not saying it's not her, but I'm not convinced, either."

"Yeah, me neither." He rubbed his eyes tiredly; judging by the dark circles and his caffeine intake, he still probably wasn't sleeping so well. "We need that guest list."

Jackie reached for her phone. "I'll see if the theater manager knows who might have a copy. Otherwise, we might be back to daddy."

Reagan pitched his cup into the trash with as much violence as one could apply to a piece of cardboard. "Yeah, I want to talk to him again, anyway. Find out if he knows why his daughter's so pissed off to get a grand as a wedding gift."

Jackie smirked. "Maybe she expected more."

#

Linda was washing the pots and pans from dinner when he walked into the kitchen, stopping to grab a beer from the fridge on his way to her. He slipped his free hand around her waist and kissed the back of her neck lightly. She leaned into him, sighing, and twisted to kiss him on the mouth. "Was starting to wonder if we'd see you at all this week."

"I know, babe. It's just… this thing…" He sighed and tipped the bottle against his lips. "It's Erin." He glanced toward the door, making sure the boys weren't in sight. "She's got a stalker. This guy's sending her pictures in her underwear. Jamie and me, we're taking turns keeping an eye on her."

Linda dried her hands before turning fully to hug him, resting her cheek against his chest. "How's she holding up?"

He stroked her hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "She's Erin. Dad wants her to report it to the police, and stay at the house with him instead of her own place, but she won't, and I kinda agree with her. This guy—they're coming through interoffice mail. And he's smart. It's not the janitor at City Hall we're talking about here."

"You'll get him." Linda patted him on the chest, lingering long enough to give him another deep kiss. "You guys catch a case besides?" She started to turn back to the dishes but he caught her arm. "Leave those. I'll get 'em." He glanced at his beer and then looked into his wife's eyes. "C'mere. I gotta talk to you."

She let him lead her to the table without protest, though the worry in her eyes intensified with every step she took. She stopped behind the chair at the head of the table and faced him. "Danny, what's wrong?"

"Sit." He nodded toward the chair and for a second he thought she'd argue. But she apparently decided better of it and did as he asked. He took the chair kitty-corner.

"My dad said something to me Sunday night, and it got me thinking. I know I've been…" He raised the beer to her. "But dad said something else, something I hadn't thought of. And I wanted—in case you're worried, like he is, I wanted to talk to you about it."

"Danny, you're scaring me a little bit here."

"I'm sorry." He reached for her hand, and leaned across the corner of the table to kiss her softly. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to." He exhaled, hard, and took another long pull from his beer, needing the liquid courage. "He asked me to promise him, if I think about killing myself, that I'll call somebody before I do it."

He heard her breath catch, and her hand tightened on his. "Danny—"

"Shh." Danny pressed a finger to her lips. "I'm not, babe. I promise you. But he said it, and it got me wondering if you think that too."

She looked away, and that was enough of an answer. He set his beer aside and cupped her cheek, guiding her to face him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know how." Tears filled her eyes, spilling over to slide down her cheeks. He rubbed them away with his thumb. "I'm sitting here watching you self-destruct, Danny. I ask you why you're drinking so much, and you go out and get so bombed your little brother's gotta drive you home. How am I supposed to ask?"

Danny looked down at his lap, and then over at the mostly empty bottle of beer. "I guess I don't know the answer to that."

"Are you?"

He looked up, startled, and shook his head. "No."

"Really?" The skepticism in her eyes left his heart heavy. How had they gotten here? "Your dad's that wrong? I'm that wrong?"

"You're not—you've gotta understand something, Linda."

"Danny, I would love to understand, but you won't let me in, no matter what I do. How am I—"

Danny held up a hand and she fell silent instantly. "I think about it, sometimes, all right?" Her breath hitched, but she didn't speak. "There are days—lately, a lot more than there used to be—that things hurt, too much, and it seems like it might be nice to take the easy way out. But all I gotta do is think about you, and Jack and Sean, and Dad, and I know I could never do that to you and the boys."

"Right now you couldn't."

"Maybe so. But I give you my word—I swear on our kids—that if I ever start thinking like that, more than what it is now, I'll get help."

Suddenly he leaned across to kiss her, hard and fierce, and she gasped a little in surprise before sinking into the kiss. He withdrew when he needed to breathe, and rested his forehead against hers. "I love you, Linda. Never doubt that."


	7. Chapter 7

**allison -** I think that's the very definition of being a Reagan. They will ALWAYS be there for each other. Glad you're enjoying.

**A/N: **I posted a little vignette, tag to 1x22, called The Whole Truth. If you haven't already, check it out!  
><strong><br>**

**-7-**

"Good news, Reagan. Think fast." Jackie flipped a small, black object in his direction the instant he looked up, and he barely caught it before it smacked him in the face. She grinned. "Nice reflexes."

"Those reflexes have saved my ass a time or two. They oughta be good." He turned the thing over in his hand; a flash drive. "What's this?"

"The Marx-McGregor wedding guest list. Theater manager put me in touch with the caterer, who gave me the number for the stationer, who had a list for the invitations. Names and addresses of all hundred and twenty of our potential murderers."

"Jesus Christ." Danny groaned, but for the first time since walking into the Tribeca Theater, felt a little surge of energy. They at least had something tangible, even if that something meant they were looking at a day glued to their phones. "You know what? Let's get the dad and the ex-boyfriend in here. They oughta be able to narrow it down to people who might actually have had contact with our victim."

#

Danny sat across from Dennis Brannan in one of the interrogation rooms; Brannan had a printout of the guest list in front of him, and with a red pen marked every guest that he knew had known Elli. He hovered over his own name and gave a self-deprecating smile before starring it as well and moving on. Then he frowned. "I don't think these people were even there, but I can't be sure."

"What about you? You bring a date? Maybe that girl who was with you the other day, when we talked to you? Says Dennis Brannan and guest right there." He reached across and tapped Brannan's name. The guy looked surprised and shook his head.

"No. I wasn't bringing a date, not with Elli there."

Danny folded his arms on the table, dropping his head to the side. "Little bit of a flame still there, maybe?"

"No. Not on my part, anyway. But Elli had a temper—she was a firecracker, you know? Part of what I liked about her." Danny knew, very well; that very same characteristic was a big part of what had drawn him to Linda in the first place, and it kept the fire burning even after fifteen years of marriage and two children. "But I think we burned a little too hot. We got into it, all the time, over everything. We were better off apart."

"So she didn't take the breakup well, then? And you were worried she'd make a scene or something, if she saw you moving on?"

Brannan shrugged. "I guess. It was a wedding, you know? I didn't find out until later, but she figured we'd be getting married. Even if we were working out, and we weren't, I wasn't anywhere near thinking about marriage. I figured it was insult to injury."

He went back to the sheet, flipped to the last page and then looked up again. "The rest of these are Scott's and my family—most of them probably never met Elli before. If there's anything else I can do, let me know. Elli and I didn't work, but I cared about her."

Danny walked Brannan out, and then handed the list off to Jackie, who compared it to the one she'd sat down with BJ Marx over. "A few differences here and there, but they couldn't both know everybody." She sipped her coffee. "Least we got a starting point."

"Yeah. A buck twenty narrowed down to sixty. Still gonna be a long day." Danny reached for his coffee. "You ask him about the gift?"

"Yeah. It's pretty much what I thought—the gold-digger stepmother doesn't like her stepdaughters, or pretty much anything that makes them happy, and daddy sided with her over the girls. Carina tells him she's marrying Scott anyway, and he's not welcome, he's upset and wants to make amends, even though he won't just tell his wife where to get off, so she says his help isn't welcome either." Jackie shrugged. "Guess she saw the check as a slap in the face." She nodded back toward the interrogation room. "He bring a date?"

"Nah. Said Elli was too volatile; he figured bringing a new girl to her sister's wedding would only piss her off. I believe him."

"So we're agreed, neither of them is a suspect."

Jackie waved her list at him. "But we got sixty more where they came from."

Danny dragged a hand through his hair. "I gotta call Jamie, tell him I'm gonna be here all night."

"Still something up with your sister?"

"Yeah. Only getting worse."

She frowned as she stood, but Danny couldn't tell if it was directed at him, or the coffee cup in her hand. "You two got it, all on your own?"

"We manage." Not that well, so far—neither he nor Jamie had seen a hint of the guy, but Erin kept getting photos. If they couldn't get somewhere fast, Danny was going to cave and tell her to file a police report like their dad was pushing for.

"You need any help, Reagan, you know my number."

#

It was 2300 before Danny finally made it home, drained and barely able to see straight, but at the same time too wired to sleep. Rather than crawling into bed next to Linda and tossing and turning half the night, and risk waking up his likely just as tired wife, Danny grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed into the living room.

Into the second hour of infomercials, and having switched to Scotch, he heard footsteps on the stairs. He didn't turn as Linda, tying her robe around her waist, came into the room. She stopped by the couch and picked up the remote, muting the television. "I hope you locked up your gun before you started drinking."

"You know I did." The alcohol alone was enough to put that slur into his words, and exhaustion just made it worse.

"I don't know much now, Danny." She shook her head. "I thought, after last night, we maybe were getting somewhere. That you were ready to admit something was wrong—maybe you'd even start talking to me. And now this?"

"I didn't want to wake you." He kept his eyes on the TV as some moron demonstrated a knife that could slice through copper pipe. Yeah, right.

"So you get drunk down here, alone, in the dark?"

He pushed to his feet, swaying slightly as the chair rocked under the shift in his weight. "Linda, I'm really too tired for this. I spent all day in front of a computer, running down names and getting exactly jack for the effort. I was too wired to sleep, so I grabbed a beer."

"And then a Scotch? Whiskey next, maybe?" She stepped in front of him, forcing him to face her. "I know as well as anyone that what you do is hard, and that you need to unwind sometime. But this? You have a problem, Danny; can't you see that?"

"My only problem right now is I think I'm finally tired enough to get some sleep." When she didn't budge, he scowled. "You know, I think I'll sleep on the couch."


	8. Chapter 8

**allison** - Thank you! Sorry the update took a bit longer, busy weekend!**  
><strong>

**A/N: **And now it gets serious...**  
><strong>

**-8-**

Erin kept her head down as Hurricane Danny blew by her and into the kitchen, coming into the dining room with a beer in his hand. Linda's jaw tightened, but she kept her cool—for the boys' sake, no doubt. Erin slipped an arm through Linda's and pulled her into the kitchen, now a Danny-free zone. "What happened?"

Linda shrugged. "What didn't? I came downstairs this morning; he was drunk sitting in the dark. I said something—maybe I shouldn't have, but I can't watch this anymore." She leaned back against the refrigerator and stared at the bottles of red and white wine on the center island. "I feel like I need a drink to deal with my husband's drinking."

"Makes you feel like a hypocrite, doesn't it?" Erin asked quietly.

"The worst kind. He slept on the couch last night. He's never done that." Linda hugged herself, looking up with dark eyes. "What am I supposed to do?"

Erin grabbed a couple of wine glasses and poured them both healthy servings of merlot. Danny's problems didn't mean they couldn't indulge. "I know this isn't what you want to hear—God knows I do. But I don't there's anything you can do. Alcoholics, drug addicts—all the help in the world doesn't do them any good until they're ready for it, and Danny's not ready."

Linda's entire body shook as she inhaled. "I haven't said that word. I haven't even thought it."

Erin stared down into her glass, swirling it slowly. "Yeah, I've been trying to avoid it myself."

Her brother's wife took a long swallow. "Enough about Danny. He told me you got a stalker?"

She nodded, gulping down more of her drink. "Yeah. I think my dad's about five seconds away from locking me up for my own safety. I gotta say, Danny's been in my corner. Jamie would have caved on me a long time ago."

"Caved how?"

"I haven't filed a police report, which means this whole thing—my 'protective detail'—is off-book. Dad wants to file a report, make the detail official—a patrol car outside my house every night, to say the least." She shook her head, and poured a little more into her glass. "This guy's disrupted my life enough. Danny or Jamie drives me to and from work every day; I've got one—or both—of my brothers camping out in my living room every night. I'm not letting it get any more out of hand than that."

Her father stuck his head into the kitchen before Linda could reply, his expression suggesting he'd heard at least the last thing she'd said—and maybe more. "Joining us, ladies?"

Erin clinked her glass against Linda's and nodded. "Coming, Dad."

#

"Okay, what?" Danny threw up his hands.

Erin looked at him over the newspaper she'd been pretending to read. "What, what?"

"You been staring at me for an hour—and that's not counting the way you were staring at me all through dinner. What gives?"

She folded the paper slowly. "You and Linda doing okay?"

"We're—" Danny gritted his teeth. "What'd she say?"

"You were drunk last night; you slept on the couch. She doesn't know how to help you." She looked down at her hands. "She can't help you."

"Erin—"

"Look, Danny." Erin drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "For years, we've sat by and watched you go through these ups and downs, and you've always gotten yourself out on your own. But each time the downs are a little deeper and the ups don't last as long. And this latest—it's been months, and you just keep on going down. And I think you're so far down now that you can't even see the way out."

He stared at her, his usual off-the-cuff denial dying on his tongue. The words came out before he could stop them. "You ever feel like you're drowning?"

"Every other day or so. Probably not anything like what you're dealing with." Erin shook her head. "Danny, we're not trying to make you miserable. All we want is to help you."

"I don't—" Danny went silent, springing to his feet. He pulled his service weapon from his waistband. "Get in your bedroom, lock the door and call dad and Jamie." She stared at him with wide eyes until he barked, "Move!"

She lurched into motion and he headed for the front door. He stopped beside it and pushed the curtains aside just an inch. There was no movement, but he'd heard something unnatural. Someone was out there.

#

"Dad?" Erin fought to keep her voice steady, straining to hear what was going on outside. There was nothing. "Dad, Danny—I'm in my bedroom, he said to call you and Jamie."

"I'll call Jamie; you stay quiet and out of sight. It'll be all right, honey. We're on our way."

Erin hung up, pressing the face of her phone against her chest until it went dark. She backed herself into the closet behind her winter coats and waited.

#

Danny turned the key in the lock and, as slowly as possible, turned the knob. He opened the door and brought his weapon to bear, cursing the fact that he hadn't left the light on outside. He swept his flashlight, resting on his wrist, to the left and started to turn to the right, but he wasn't fast enough.

The movement was a blur out of the corner of his eye, and he never saw what hit him.


	9. Chapter 9

**allison **- Thank you so much! This update should answer your questions. Thanks also for your reviews on Regret and The Whole Truth. Particularly The Whole Truth. I would love to continue on with that, but I don't have a direction, per se, so suggestions are always welcome.

**allie** - Thanks! Trying to update every couple of days, though the weekend makes it a bit harder.

**A/N: **All right, folks, heed the warnings from Chapter 1 please. Not that you should be under any illusions by now, but this is not sweetness and light. 

**-9-**

Danny woke to a blur of red and blue, a couple or three out-of-focus faces swimming above him against a backdrop of police lights. He blinked quickly and tried to raise a hand to his head. Someone caught it and pushed it back down. "Stay still, Detective," a female voice instructed. "You've taken a bad blow to the head."

"We're right here, Dan." He recognized his father's voice, though he couldn't make him out in all the fuzziness floating around his head. "You're okay."

He pulled his arm free from whoever had grabbed it and tried to push himself up. The whole world lurched around him and he almost lost the contents of his stomach. "Damn it, Danny, stop pushing yourself."

"Where's—" He made the mistake of shaking his head to clear it, and groaned, but still resisted the hands trying to press him back into the ground. "Where's Erin? Did he—?"

"Don't worry about Erin right now. You took a shot to the head. Let the paramedics check you out."

"How many fingers am I holding up, Detective?" Danny blinked. "Six?" That didn't sound right but he had no better guess.

"You've got a concussion, Detective. We've got another ambulance en route; just sit tight until it gets here, okay?"

"I've got him." That came from his father, but Danny was focused on what the EMT had just said. Another ambulance.

"Where's Erin, dad?"

"Danny, I'm not answering a single question until you can prove to me that you're capable of rational thought. That's a bad shot you took, and your head needs looking at."

"You don't tell me where she is, I'm'a go find her myself." He fought to get to his feet, only to have his dad force him back down yet again.

"She's on her way to the hospital. She's going to be just fine."

His dad's voice was off; even through the haze around his brain, Danny knew there was something he wasn't saying. "What happened? Did you—d'you get here in time?" He blinked twice more, and could actually make out his father's face, mostly in focus. "Did you get here in time?"

His dad sighed, resigned, no doubt, to the fact that Danny had no intention of cooperating with anyone until he got the answers he was looking for—one way or the other. "No. No, we didn't."

#

Jamie paced back and forth outside Erin's hospital room. He'd seen the doctors leave with the rape kit; she was alone in the room now and he wanted to go in, offer her some measure of support, but he wasn't sure what to do.

"Jamie." He turned and sighed with relief when he saw his father standing there. "I just drove Danny in. Refused an ambulance ride; I think he'd rather suffer right now."

"Yeah, well…" Jamie looked down, ashamed at the direction his thoughts were taking. "Erin—they're done. I wanted to go in, but I didn't know what to say." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I feel like I'm gonna throw up. I don't think she needs that right now."

"No, probably not." His dad closed the distance between them and clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll sit with Erin; you go check on Danny."

He started to walk away, heard his dad turning the knob, and turned back just as he started to open the door. "Dad, Danny…" he trailed off, regretting the thought that had sprung to mind even as he couldn't quite shake it loose.

"What is it?" his father prompted, and Jamie wondered if they were on the same wavelength.

"Do you think Danny was drinking?"

"I don't know, son." His father shook his head. "I do know one thing, though. If he was, nothing you or I can say will be greater punishment than that he can level on himself."

#

Danny sat on the edge of the hospital bed, teeth gritted against the pounding in his skull. The ice pack they'd given him did little to help. They wouldn't give him pain medication, concerned about his concussion—not that he'd have taken it anyway. He wouldn't have minded something for the nausea, but they wouldn't give him anything for that, either, certain that it was either a result of the concussion or all in his head.

It might have been, at that; every time he thought about Erin, he wanted to throw up.

"How you doing?" Jamie's voice was soft, even, and empty. The brother who wore his emotions on his sleeve, and Danny couldn't read him at all.

He ignored the question. "How is she?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Physically, I think she's okay. She's got a headache and she's pretty banged up. But she's not… talking."

Danny closed his eyes, picturing his sister in the place of any of the dozen or more victims he'd dealt with over his career; his mind rebelled at the thought, and he tightened an arm over his stomach, willing the nausea away. "That's pretty normal."

"This isn't normal, Danny. It's our sister!"

Danny brought his head up to meet his brother's glare, instantly regretting the rapid movement. "Keep your voice down. I know who it is. I was there, remember?"

"Yeah, you were." The accusation on the tip of Jamie's tongue was unmistakable, even if he had the tact and good sense not to say it. Instead he asked, "What the hell happened, Danny?"

He'd been over this already, determined despite his father's intervention, to give his story to the first uniform he saw—little of use as he could offer. But he knew where Jamie was coming from, and he'd want to hear it himself if he was in his brother's shoes. "I heard something…" he trailed off and blinked furiously. "I told her to call you and dad, and then I went outside. I don't know where the son of a bitch was; I barely saw him out of the corner of my eye before he hit me."

Jamie looked down at the floor, not speaking. There was nothing he, or their father, could do to make Danny feel worse about his failure, but it was a damn close thing.

"Just ask."

Jamie's head came up and he stared at Danny with wide eyes. "Ask what?"

"Come on. You think I don't know you and dad already talked about whether I was too drunk to handle this? I just can't figure if you actually asked Erin or not." Danny wasn't sure what he expected—maybe a denial—but he was glad to see Jamie was done pussy-footing around.

"Were you?"

"I was cold sober." Danny shoved off the bed, swaying a little on his feet. Leaving the ice pack on the spot he'd just vacated, shoved by his brother. "I'm going to see Erin."

The nurse gave Danny and his bandaged head a disapproving look, but that didn't stop her from telling him where his sister was. He hovered in the doorway in silence a moment or two, trying to work up the courage to cross the threshold and go to her. Erin took the decision out of his hands when she turned to face him. "Hey."

There was no recrimination in her voice; nothing to suggest that she blamed him at all for failing to protect her. "Hey."

He came to her bedside slowly. Her head and hands were bandaged, and un ugly bruise spread down her left cheek. An IV fed into the back of her left, and judging by the glassy look in her eyes—the one he could see clearly, anyway, as the left was swollen shut—they'd given her something for the pain. He swallowed hard and tears burned his eyes. "God, Erin, I'm so—"

"It's not your fault, Danny." She reached out with one hand, curling her fingers around his as best she could with her movement restricted.

"I was supposed to—"

"Shh." She tugged him down next to her. "I don't blame you."

"You're the only one." He hadn't meant to say it, mostly because it implied he didn't think his father and Jamie had a right to, and that wasn't true.

"Well, I'm the one who matters. They're not angry at you, Danny. They're angry at themselves for not getting there faster. They're angry that they couldn't lock me away in some box where no one could get to me. They're not angry at you."

"They oughta be."

Erin shook her head. "No."

He wasn't in a mood to argue, and she needed to rest. "I just wanted to see how you're doing. I'll let you get some sleep." Danny made to get up, but Erin wouldn't let him go. He could have broken her weak grip easily, but he couldn't bring himself to pull free.

"Stay. Please."

He looked toward the door, and then back at her face. Her eyelids fluttered, and he knew she was fighting sleep, maybe afraid of what waited for her once they closed. He knew that feeling well. "Only if you try to rest."

"Sure."

Just as he thought she'd fallen asleep, Erin spoke. "I'll be okay, Danny."

"I know you will." He brushed her hair back from her face and swallowed. He knew, because she was more than him than she cared to admit—and even more like their dad, to boot. She'd survive this, better than he had. "Erin, I… I gotta tell you something. Something I've never told anybody."

All traces of exhaustion were gone when she opened her eyes. "What is it?"

"I—" Danny drew a ragged breath and looked down at his hands. "You need anything, you need to talk—you come find me, okay?" He was shaking, just a little, and the beginnings of panic in her eyes were impossible to miss. "I went through some things, in Iraq. Three days, I spent in…" He linked his fingers through hers, carefully, and breathed shallowly through his mouth, and shook his head. She didn't need to know his problems right now, but he wanted her to know there was someone who might have a clue what was going on inside her head. "I know it's not the same, okay? But if you need anything—"

Erin pushed herself up slowly, careful of her injured hands, tears shining in her eyes. He wasn't sure if he hugged her, or the other way around, but he suddenly found his arms full of his trembling little sister.

"I'm so sorry." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "God, Erin, I'm so sorry."


	10. Chapter 10

**allison **- Thank you! You know, it's funny you mention Jamie's attitude and motivations, because I was chatting with someone about Danny, and it occurred to me that both of those things might be reasons he wouldn't be happy to see Jamie become a cop. As always, thank you for the reviews.

**allie** - Thanks! If it's aftermath you're looking for, there's plenty of that to come!

**anonymous** - Thanks so much for the review! Glad you're enjoying it.

**A/N: **Because I doubt I'll be able to update over the weekend, I'll give you an update a bit early.

**-10-**

Jamie sat a long time in the bank of chairs outside his sister's room, and almost missed Danny when he came out. "Hey, Dan."

Danny's eyes were bloodshot, and he swayed a little on his feet. Jamie caught his arm and tried to guide him to sit down, but Danny wasn't having any of it. He pulled free and started to walk away without a word, but Jamie pursued. "Hey, would you talk to me for a second?"

"Why?"

Jamie bit back a retort. He deserved whatever his older brother wanted to throw at him. He knew better than to think Danny, even as messed up as things had been lately—as messed up as he had been—would do anything to put Erin at risk. He should never have asked the question, even with Danny baiting him.

Jamie bit his lip, glancing over Danny's shoulder at the open door. He wasn't sure whether Danny would want to know that he'd overheard, or remain blissfully ignorant that his secret had gone beyond Erin's ears. "I heard you in there, talking. I walked in at… the wrong time." Or maybe the right time. Maybe what Danny needed was for someone else to know his secrets.

For a second or two he really thought Danny had stopped breathing. He scrubbed a hand over his face, looking down at the floor. "Thanks for telling me." He moved to step around Jamie, and it was testament to his exhaustion—and concussion—that Jamie managed to get in front of him again.

"Damn it, Danny, would you talk to me?"

"Nothing to talk about."

Danny shoved by him once again, and this time Jamie didn't have to stop him. Linda came through the elevator doors and ran straight for her husband, throwing her arms around his neck. Danny buried his face in her shoulder, breathing so deeply his shoulders shook. Jamie couldn't make out what she was saying, but he didn't need to.

#

Danny trembled against Linda, a few stray tears dampening the shoulder of her shirt even as she tried to guide him to a chair. She couldn't understand what he was saying, and in fact wasn't sure he was pronouncing real words at all.

As she got him sitting down, he finally withdrew and dragged a sleeve across his face. "Linda, I can't—"

"Shh." She pressed her index finger to his lips. "Your dad called me. He told me what happened; it wasn't your fault, Danny. You can't—you can't blame yourself. Okay?" He tried to pull away from her but she grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. "Listen to me, Danny. Tell me you're listening to me."

"I'm listening." His voice was choked, and his eyes still shone with the tears that hadn't made it down his cheeks. "God, Linda. I can't—she trusted me. They trusted me, to protect her, and I couldn't do it."

"You did what you could; you did the best you could. Tell me you understand me, honey."

When Danny didn't answer, Linda leaned into him, closed her eyes, and prayed.

#

With Jackie and a junior detective covering their case, and recovering from a concussion, Danny was Erin's self-appointed guard the day after her assault, holed up in their childhood home after her release from the hospital Monday morning. Jamie was on duty, and their dad had gone in to work, quite obviously against his better judgment.

Erin slept most of the day, curled in a protective little ball in her old bedroom, buried in blankets though the house was plenty warm. He heard her shower at least three times, and after the second had to resist the temptation to go up and try to get her to talk, or at least to come down for something to eat. His grandfather shot him a questioning look at one point, but, mercifully, didn't argue that Danny was failing once again in his brotherly duties.

Part of Danny—a very large, and very convincing part—wanted to roll out before Jamie got home; he knew his younger brother still wanted to talk to him about what he'd overheard at the hospital, but Danny had meant it when he said there was nothing to talk about.

Jamie undoubtedly thought he'd found the driving force behind all of Danny's "problems" and their father (if he knew) and Erin (once she could process information again) would likely agree. But it wasn't that simple. Nothing was.

Jamie dropped his duffel just inside the foyer, and hung back when he saw Danny standing by the window, eyes on the street. "Hey. How's Erin?"

"Barely seen her all day. She slept most of it."

"Good. She probably needs it." Jamie shifted foot to foot, and Danny mentally crossed his fingers that he wouldn't bring up yesterday. "You heading out?"

"I sent Linda and the boys to her mom's. This guy's off his rocker; I don't want to take any chances. Figure I'll stay here tonight." He was probably asking for trouble—and, at the very least, for a lecture from his father. But at the moment, he didn't care. Staying here, and putting up with the watchful eyes of his family was a far safer option than heading home to an empty house. "I need a beer. You want one?"

Jamie opened his mouth, almost certainly intending to protest, but then sighed and nodded. "Sure."

Danny had a glass of Scotch in his hand when their father came home. He made no effort to hide his disapproval before heading upstairs, only to return with their sister. She wore a stolen pair of Jamie's Harvard sweats, the waistband rolled over to keep them on her hips, and Danny's own USMC sweatshirt. The bruising on the left side of her face had only gotten worse, starting to yellow across her cheekbones. At least the swelling looked to be down enough that she could see again.

"Staying the night?" his dad asked as they sat down to a quick spaghetti dinner. The query sounded innocent, but everyone around the table knew it was anything but.

Danny worked his jaw as he tore into a slice of Italian bread, and then lifted the nearly empty bottle he'd grabbed before coming to the table. Scotch and spaghetti didn't go well together. "You wouldn't want me driving home, right?"

"No, I suppose not."

Danny tipped the remnants of his drink down his throat and pushed his chair back. "Anybody need one?"

Erin held his gaze, and this time it was she who earned a look from their father. "I'll take one."

He grabbed three beers from the fridge, pocketed one and popped the caps off of the other two. His father's eyes narrowed. "Danny, you think you maybe ought to slow down?"

Danny ignored him. He set one down in front of Erin, and took a healthy swallow of his own. When three sets of eyes watched his every move without blinking—only Erin kept her eyes down, on her drink—he scowled. "You know, I'm not hungry."

He took the stairs two at a time, and had his beer finished by the time he reached the upstairs hallway. He opened the door to his old bedroom and sat down on the edge of the twin bed, pulling his cell from his pocket. He knocked back a few sips and set the bottle down, and then sat in the quiet for a moment or two. The low hum of dinner conversation floated up the stairs, the words too soft for him to make them out. He tossed his cell back and forth from hand to hand before dialing his wife.

"Danny." He could hear the smile in her voice over the line. "How's Erin doing?"

"She's… she's okay. Slept most of the day, downstairs having dinner now. First time I think she's eaten all day."

"How come you're not downstairs having dinner?" Her voice was gentle, the worry coming through loud and clear. When he didn't answer right away, she spoke again. "Danny?"

"I couldn't protect her, Linda." He leaned forward, resting on his knees, and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I was there to protect her, and… and he's still out there, Linda."

"Danny, honey, you can't blame yourself for what happened to Erin."

"I was supposed to protect her. Dad put me there to protect her. He trusted me. She trusted me, and I—what he did to her, Linda." He reached blindly for his beer, downing half of it in one swallow. "The way they're—they don't trust me. Jamie, he asked if I was drinking. When it happened."

"He's your kid brother. He's worried about you and upset about what happened to her; he's reacting. Nobody believes you'd endanger Erin like that, not really." He knew she wanted to take the opportunity he'd given her; he certainly knew his father would have. But she was his wife, and she knew him, and she wouldn't repeat Jamie's mistake. So he answered her unasked question.

"I wasn't, Linda."

"I know, Danny. I know." In that moment, he'd have given almost anything to have her there, by his side, to just be able to reach out to her. "Have you been drinking, honey?"

He stared at the nearly empty bottle in his hand, and finished it off before answering. "Yeah."

He heard her exhale slowly, and even without her there beside him, he could see the pained expression on her face. "I love you, Danny. The boys love you. You know that?"

"I know, babe."

Footsteps, close enough that he realized he'd missed them coming up the stairs, drew his eyes toward the door. Erin stood there, one shoulder resting against the doorframe, the unmarred side of her face paler than he remembered it being downstairs. "Hey, Linda, I gotta go."

She didn't argue, even though she had to be afraid to hang up the phone. "All right. I love you," she repeated.

"Love you, too." He hung up, and tossed his phone to the side. As Erin crossed the short distance from the door, he slid off the bed and drew his knees to his chest. She dropped down next to him, facing him, and curled into his side. She didn't breathe a word as her control snapped, and she buried her head in his shoulder.

She shook as she sobbed, tears soaking his shirt, and if a few of his own fell as he wrapped her in his arms, well, no one was around to see.


	11. Chapter 11

**allison **- Thanks! Poor Danny... that should maybe be my slogan...

**shaz1** - Thanks! Here you are!

**A/N: **More case-related; all Danny and Jackie, all the time. I don't love this chapter, but it sets the scene for the next one.

**-11-**

Jackie studied her partner as he headed for his desk, a paper 7-11 cup of coffee in his hand. He looked like hell. His face was gray, with black circles under his eyes. Looking at him, she would've sworn he'd lost twenty pounds in the three days since she'd seen him. "You hanging in there?" Word got around fast when one of their own got hit, and the DAs were no exception. That Erin was the PC's daughter only made the grapevine work double-time.

Most of them didn't know the details, but Jackie had read the report. She was damned if she wasn't going to know what was going on with her partner, and she sure as hell wasn't going to get the information out of her partner.

"No," he said shortly. "You get anything else?"

She looked down at her computer screen and counted to three to stop herself asking if he should really be at work; she already knew the answer, and he wouldn't welcome the question. Not to mention, asking it wouldn't do a damn bit of good. "No, but the happy couple are due back in town this afternoon, so there's that. If it's not the sister, then I don't know who the hell killed Elli."

"There's a lot of that going around." Jackie didn't think she'd been meant to hear that, so she didn't respond.

"How's Erin?"

And that was the wrong thing, too. Damn, this was gonna be a bad day. "How do you think she is?"

"Reagan, I'm—" Oh, the hell with it. "You look like crap; have you even slept since Saturday night?"

"I was passed out for twenty minutes or so, does that count?"

She wanted to ask if his father knew he'd come into the office. She really did. But if she let that slip out, this day was gonna end up going down in history as the worst of her life. "No, not really."

"Okay. Glad we got that cleared up." He turned his back on her and stared at the marked-up copy of the wedding guest list pinned to the wall. "Over a hundred people and not one of 'em has a beef with this firecracker of a girl who ends up dead. Nobody even remembers a fight?"

"Maybe Brannan was lying? There's nothing to corroborate his story that Carina and Elli got into it."

Her partner shook his head. "No, I'd bet a week's salary he's telling the truth." Then something in his face changed. His jaw tightened and what she saw in his eyes in that instant scared the hell out of her. "You know what? Bring him in. I got everything else wrong lately; why not this?"

#

Brannan held out his hand to shake Danny's, and the confusion in his eyes when Danny didn't return the gesture just affirmed his gut feeling—the kid was innocent. But he wasn't real sure how reliable his gut was these days, so he pointed to the chair opposite him. "Sit down."

Brannan sat. "What's this—"

"We've spoken to half the people at Carina Marx's wedding, and not one of them remembers seeing Carina and her sister fighting. But you made out like they single-handedly launched world war three." Danny rested his elbows on the back of his chair. "You want to try explaining that to us?"

Brannan's eyes widened, and Danny thought he caught a glimmer of betrayal in his eyes, though that didn't make much sense. "I thought—"

Danny didn't miss the look Jackie shot him before she interrupted, but he couldn't puzzle out the query in her eyes. "Just answer the question."

"I was in the wedding party. There was a room upstairs they let us hang out in. You know—so Carina and Scott could make sure they actually got something to eat instead of just talking to the guests. It was just the four of us—Scott and Carina, me and Elli—in there at the time. Elli said she felt like she was going to pass out, that her dress was too hot, and Carina flipped out."

Jackie nodded slowly, and for the first time in a long time Danny had no idea what was going through his partner's head. "It must've been hard for you, close quarters with your ex like that?"

Finally, they started to see signs of life out of Brannan. He dragged a hand through his hair and fixed a pleading gaze on Danny. "How many times do I have to tell people, I'm done with Elli? We were—we were over a long time before I broke things off."

"Yeah, I bet you were. Reagan."

Jackie jerked her head toward the door and Danny frowned before following her out. "What's up?"

He should've known from the smile playing across her lips that he wasn't gonna like her next words. "I think he's got a crush on you."

For a second or two, Danny just stared at her. Then he managed, "What drugs are you on? Long as you share, this stays between us."

She smacked him across the back of his head. "Seriously, you don't see it? You hurt his feelings, not trusting him." Her voice took on a teasing lilt, and she pushed her hair off her face. "The way he's looking at you, Reagan, I don't know how I missed it before."

Danny exhaled. This was new territory. It wasn't the first time a witness or a suspect had developed a thing for him, but they'd always been female before. "You sure about this?"

"Sure as I am about anything with this case."

Danny pulled a face; that was hardly the ringing reassurance he was looking for, but it was gonna have to do. "Okay. What do you say to a round of good cop, bad cop?"

"Okay, so long as I get to be the bad one."

"Would I deny you that?"

"With your track record?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Get in there, would ya?" He held the door open for her.

Jackie leaned against the wall directly opposite Brannan, and Danny hung by the door. "Look, Dennis. We understand you probably feel blindsided here, but you gotta look at it from our perspective. We got sixty witnesses who never saw anything, and the only people who can corroborate your story are hopefully on an airplane heading this way. It looks a little weird, yeah?"

Brannan visibly relaxed, until Jackie opened her mouth. "What my partner is too nice to say, Dennis," she leaned forward, palms flat on the table, getting into his face, "is that we know you're lying. And we know why. So I'm gonna give you one chance to tell us what it is you're not telling us, before we charge you. And we'll start with obstruction of justice and work up from there." She dropped her head to the side. "How's that sound?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Jackie, back off the kid, okay?"

"Aw, is the scaredy cat routine getting to you?"

"It's not—"

"I'm not scared," Brannan interrupted.

"Sure you're not. That's why you're not telling us the real reason you didn't bring a date to the wedding—or, for that matter, the real reason you broke things off with Elli. Which we already know. What we don't know is if Elli knew too. Or if her sister knew. And if you don't start talking, we're gonna have to ask her."

"Jackie, you think you're pushing this a little hard?" Brannan dragged his palms across his pants and a thin sheen of sweat glistened across his forehead. A little more and she had him. "If she doesn't know, I don't think it's our place to say anything."

"You don't think she deserves to know why her sister died on her wedding night?"

Danny glanced at Brennan, his knee bouncing rapidly under the table, and spread his hands. Even if he'd wanted to—and he didn't—that point was hard to argue.

"I don't—I don't know what you're talking about." He wiped his hands again; kid was sweating bullets.

"The hell you don't." Jackie's hands came down on the table again, hard this time, the cop cliché that this kid, if he ever made it through law school, would laugh at some day—not that Danny didn't use that tactic himself far too frequently. "I bet my paycheck you're the reason Elli Marx is dead, one way or the other, and you're gonna sit there and tell me you don't know what I'm talking about?"

"Take a walk, Jackie." Danny kept his voice level. Someone cooler than Brannan was at that moment would've seen through the act from the start, but he was about to jump out of his skin. Jackie didn't move. "Take a walk, Detective." She worked her jaw like she was gonna argue, but then stalked out, slamming the door behind her.

Once she'd gone, Danny pulled out and turned it backwards to sit down. "Guessing from your reaction, that even if Elli did know, as far as you know, Carina didn't." He jerked his head toward the closed door. "But she's right. She deserves to know why her sister died. And unless Carina pushed her down a flight of stairs because she got pissed off about her bridesmaid dress?" Danny paused and waited for the disbelief—it hadn't occurred to Brannan that Carina could ever have killed her sister; that showed in his eyes. "You're all we got. Now, you've been lying to us, and God knows I can understand why, but unless you give us something to work with, Dennis, we got no choice but to look elsewhere for what we need. And even if Carina didn't already know, I'm willing to bet that a conversation with us might make a few things click. So what do you say?"

Brannan's Adam's apple jumped and he looked down at his hands. They shook a little as he nodded. "Okay. What do you want to know?"

"You had a date, at the wedding. Maybe a buddy you brought along, or somebody already on the guest list?" Brannan swallowed again, nodding, and Danny clasped his hands in front of him. "This guy got a name?" He'd bet his own paycheck, and Jackie's too, that Brannan's boyfriend was somebody he'd skipped over on the guest list.

Brennan didn't even blink when Danny said 'guy,' just nodded. "He was already invited. Ethan Blake." He lifted his head and looked Danny straight in the eye. "But I didn't lie to you. Ethan doesn't know Elli; he's never met her. He's a friend of Scott's. He'd only even met Carina once or twice."

"But he knows about you two? He knows she maybe wants you back? Whether or not he could pick her out of a lineup before, by the time Carina and your cousin said their vows, he knew which one was Elli."

Brennan shook his head slowly. "No. Ethan could never have—"

"Not saying he went looking for her to kill her; not saying he meant it when it happened. I'm just saying we need to check him out. Where do we find this Ethan Blake?"


	12. Chapter 12

**allison **- Here's more! Thanks!

**allie** - I'm not really writing Nicky in this story; I believe Erin would keep her as far away from all of this as humanly possible. But I haven't forgotten her, either, and neither has Erin.

**A/N: **I really like this chapter; I hope you all do.

**-12-**

"I feel kinda like a heel," Reagan admitted as he climbed out of the car. "Played the kid like a piano."

Jackie groaned. "Enough clichés for one day, Reagan, please. One more, and my ears might bleed." She started up the sidewalk. "You think he's the guy?"

"I think if he's not, we better pray it was the sister or her new husband, because I'm not really looking forward to starting this whole thing over again from square one." Her partner climbed the steps and pounded on the front door to another brownstone, smaller than the Marx home but still impressive. "Money attracts money, huh?"

"Looks like." She watched him carefully as he paced the short length of the stoop. There was a little more life in his eyes now than there'd been that morning, but he definitely wasn't okay. He wouldn't be for a while.

When the door didn't open immediately, Danny held down the doorbell. When that still garner a response, he reached into his pocket, coming out with a set of lock picks. "What do you know? He left the door unlocked."

"Not a smart thing to do in the city," Jackie said as she followed him inside, drawing her weapon. "Never know what riff-raff might wander in."

Reagan held his gun, aimed for the floor but ready to bring it to bear any moment. "You know, I take offense to that."

"Yeah?" She shot him a quick grin. "Good."

The top of the stairwell gave way to a hallway, open doorway ahead and open air to the right. Her partner jerked his head to the side and moved straight ahead into the kitchen. Jackie moved into first the living room and then an office before returning to meet Reagan in the hallway. "All clear. Place is crystal clean; all the dishes put away. Nothing out of place."

"Like he might have been planning not to be home for a while." Jackie nodded for the stairway leading to the third floor. "Let's go see if he left anything behind."

A bedroom, bathroom, and storage room made up the top floor. Blake definitely wasn't home, and Jackie holstered her weapon as she turned to the storage closet. She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and opened the door.

"So we got a large suitcase and a carry-on; they match, probably part of a set, but the middle piece is missing."

"Yeah, two drawers in his dresser are half empty, too, and a bunch of free hangers in the closet. Looks like we got our guy."

Jackie pocketed her gloves and then pulled out her cell phone. "I'll call it in and start trying to track him down. You go home and get some rest; I'll call you if we get a hit."

It was testament to how badly off he was that he didn't argue. He said simply, "Thanks. I'll get a cab," and was down the stairs and out the door before she brought up her speed dial.

#

Danny had planned on hitting the shower, maybe getting a late lunch with Linda if she hadn't eaten yet. But when he got home and saw the note on the calendar that she had a hair appointment, that plan went out the window. There was leftover spaghetti on the middle shelf of the fridge, and he went for it but came up with a beer instead.

By the time his wife came back, he'd forgotten altogether about eating at all, and was through a six-pack and onto a second, or maybe third, glass of Scotch. Linda stood in the entrance to the living room, her jacket hanging over her arm. Disapproval shone plainly in her eyes, though she mostly kept it from her voice. "Middle of the day, Danny?"

"Your hair looks nice."

"I don't want to talk about my hair." She draped her jacket over the back of the recliner and came to kneel on the floor next to him. "What are you doing home?"

"We caught a break in the case. And then we didn't." He waved his hand, still holding his glass, and almost tipped it sideways. "Jackie sent me home."

"Was that before or after you had your first beer of the day?"

"Before. Thanks for asking." He drained the last of his drink and then swung his feet off the couch. He tried to stand, but Linda pressed her palm flat against his chest, forcing him back into the cushions.

"No. No more, Danny." She closed her eyes, and a few stray tears slipped free from beneath her eyelids. "Jesus, God, this has to stop."

"Linda—"

She shook her head, cutting him off. "I know you're hurting, Danny. I know you feel responsible for Erin, and I know it's gonna be a long time before that even starts to fade. But I also know this is not just about your sister."

"I'm not talking about this now." He pushed Linda aside, feeling a momentary flash of guilt when she overbalanced, landing on her ass on the floor, but he didn't hang around to help her up, and it didn't stop her from following him to the kitchen.

"If not now, then when?"

He tossed his glass in the sink and then popped the top off another beer from the fridge as he turned to face her. "If I have my way, never. How's that?"

Linda recoiled as if he'd slapped her, but he didn't have a chance to apologize. His cell rang and, fumbling for it, he almost dropped his beer. He turned away from his wife as he brought his phone to his ear. "Reagan."

"So what do rich boys do when they're in trouble?" his partner asked.

That one was easy. He'd heard that one before. "Run to daddy."

"And daddy Blake's got a house right downtown, listed in wife number three's name, would you believe. I'm heading over there now; here's the address." Before she could rattle it off, though, Danny interrupted—unintentionally though it might have been. The bottle in his hand crashed against the plate and glass in the sink, shattering them both but remaining intact itself. "What the hell was that?"

"I dropped—" He stared down, his vision suddenly blurry. "You leave the precinct yet?"

"I'm in the elevator." The confusion in her voice carried easily over the phone. "Reagan, are you okay?"

He wanted to lie to her; 'I'm fine' was on the tip of his tongue, but then he shook his head. "No. I can't—grab somebody else. I can't—"

"You sick all of a sudden?" The confusion turned to worry in the span of a heartbeat. "Talk to me."

"I can't drive, Jackie. You gotta—you need to grab somebody else. Take what's-his-face, the guy from Monday." The rookie detective who pinch hit for him the day after he let his kid sister be raped. "Ronconi. Take him."

But Jackie was his partner, and she knew him, and she wasn't giving up that easily. "Reagan, what the hell's going on? You're scaring me a little here."

"There's a lot of that going around." His dad, his sister, his wife. Probably the rest of the family, while he was at it. "I'm drunk, Jackie. Take somebody else. I don't care who. I just, I can't now."

"Reagan." He heard her inhale and then exhale even more slowly. "Danny. Are you alone right now? Because if you are, I'm coming—"

"No." He'd screwed this up bad enough already; if they missed collaring Blake because his partner took a timeout to babysit him, nobody'd be able to save him—if they even wanted to. "Linda's here."

"Okay." The relief was audible in her voice; too bad he couldn't feel a little bit of it himself. "I'll drag Ronconi out from under his paperwork; you just take care of yourself, okay? I'll let you know where we end up." She hung up without waiting for a response.

#

Linda couldn't hear what Jackie said, but it was easy enough to piece it together from Danny's side of the conversation. As far as she knew—and God knew, she hoped she was right about this—it was the first time he'd ever been too drunk to do his job.

He lowered the phone from his ear but stayed where he was, his back to her and shoulders slumped over the counter.

After at least a full two minutes passed in silence, neither of them moving—Danny giving no sign at all that he even remembered she was there—Linda took the initiative and moved to stand beside him. She took his phone, meeting no resistance, and slipped an arm around his waist. When she lay her head on his shoulder, he rested his against hers. "Why don't you go lie down, Danny? Sleep it off, okay?"

She wouldn't try to talk to him like this, not after the way he'd reacted in the living room.

"Linda…" he finally turned to face her, and he just looked so lost that it nearly broke her heart.

"Shh." She silenced his cell phone and shoved it into her back pocket before leading him, without protest, up to their bedroom. The boys were headed to friends' houses after school and she'd had a big afternoon of spring cleaning planned out. But as she watched her husband, the set of his shoulders screaming defeat and exhaustion, slide between the sheets, somehow the winter clothes waiting to go into storage didn't seem quite so important. She toed off her shoes and climbed into bed beside him.


	13. Chapter 13

**allison **- You know what they say - it's always darkest before the dawn. Or, in the immortal words of Hannibal Smith from the A-Team, it's always darkest before it goes totally black.

**A/N: **And the aftermath.

**-13-**

It was almost seven when Danny woke up, still in his suit pants and a t-shirt, sweaty sheets tangled around his waist. It took a minute of staring at the ceiling to remember how he'd gotten there, and the events immediately preceding, and when it hit him, he felt like throwing up. As it was, he brushed his teeth and took a shower before heading downstairs.

Linda was just serving dinner—pork chops, applesauce, and mac and cheese out of the box—when he reached the dining room. For a moment he hung back, just watching his family. Jack eagerly spooned out more applesauce than he had any hope of eating, while Linda cut Sean's food for him. Then Sean looked up and gave a gleeful cry. "Daddy!"

Food forgotten, Danny found himself with an armful of his youngest, who he hadn't seen much of lately—whether because he was stuck at work, or guarding Erin, or trying to drink himself out of his misery. He returned Sean to the table and ruffled Jack's hair, before stopping in front of his wife. He leaned down to kiss her softly, half expecting she wouldn't want anything to do with him, but she met his lips. "I love you. We'll talk later, okay?"

It wasn't okay; the mere thought of talking made his head swim, and he moved automatically for the fridge, looking for something to drink. He might have finished one six-pack, and then some, but there'd been another—though it was now nowhere to be seen. "I got rid of it." Hand still on the open refrigerator door, Danny closed his eyes for a second or two and counted back from five—the only way he could keep from snapping at her, even though one tiny part of him was grateful. "I poured you a glass of water, if you want it."

Between them, Jack and Sean kept the dinner conversation going nonstop, saving Danny from having to contribute much other than the occasional smile and nod or word of encouragement. And then Linda sent them off to watch a movie, leaving them alone.

"You want to tell me what happened today?" she asked as she stacked dirty plates and gathered the used silverware. "I've never seen you like that before."

"Nothing happened."

His wife set her jaw and turned away from him, dumping the dishes in the sink. "Danny—"

"I mean it. Nothing happened. We had a break in the case, and then hit a wall. Jackie told me I looked like hell and to go home, and she'd call me if she got anywhere." He shook his head slowly. "I was gonna have lunch, and maybe try and get a couple hours' sleep, or head over to dad's."

"But you got drunk instead."

He bit the inside of his cheek until he could trust himself to speak without taking her head off. Whatever she had to say, he deserved it—and worse. And he'd get that tomorrow, when he had to face Jackie. The thought gave him a headache. "I didn't intend to, Linda."

"You never intend to, Danny." She leaned against the counter and folded her arms. "I got home at two o'clock, and you were half passed out on the couch. What if I'd had the boys with me? They don't need to see you like that. Bad enough I gotta explain things to them like call girls and serial killers; I don't want to have to lie to them about why daddy can't walk in a straight line."

She turned away from him, slowly and deliberately starting to load the dishwasher. At loose ends, Danny hovered in the doorway, feeling a little like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin—and a lot like he wanted to know exactly what Linda had done with the beer she'd taken from the fridge. He wondered if she'd disappeared the harder stuff too.

He stayed where he was.

Linda closed the dishwasher and turned back around, hands braced against the counter. "Danny, if it was just today, I could write it off. What happened to your sister, you being unable to stop it—I could understand. But it's not." Tears shone in her eyes. "I watched too many of my friends deal with this; I won't put myself through it, and I won't put the boys through it."

The doorframe had to be the only thing keeping him upright. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you need to get some help, Danny, because I can't do this anymore."

#

Jackie had known Danny Reagan a long time—four years of partnering, back in the day, and they'd kept in touch over the years. And she'd seen him do some pretty questionable things, the kinds of things that would have most seasoned cops staring at their shoes while a sergeant chewed their ass, deservedly. She'd seen him apologize, on very rare occasions. But she couldn't remember once seeing shame in his eyes.

The way he looked at her across their desks Wednesday morning—there was no other word for it.

She jerked her head toward the door, knowing they needed to talk this out and that it was better done somewhere away from some of the nosiest ears in New York outside the gossip rags. He nodded, once, and they headed outside.

They didn't talk until they reached the corner and stopped, waiting for the walk signal. "I told Ronconi you came down with food poisoning. I'd tell you to do your best to look pale and weak today, but you're already doing a pretty good job of that."

"Jackie, I'm sorry."

She shook her head, turning to face him even as the walk signal flashed. "Just tell me, honestly. Are you okay?"

One other thing she knew about her partner was how to tell when he was full of crap. He wanted to lie—fully intended to, in fact, right up until he opened his mouth. What came out, though, was the God's honest truth. "Not even close."

As a cop, your partner was more than your friend; hell, a lot of her partners had been closer than family to her, and Reagan was the closest of any she'd ever had. "Are you gonna be?"

"I don't—" He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked away. "I'm working on it. This thing, with my sister? And everything else. It's… it doesn't matter. There's no excuse for yesterday, and you shouldn't have to cover my ass."

"You're my partner, Reagan. It's what we do." It came with the territory, partnering with him. Only usually it was his tactics, like threatening Happy Jack's kid with a bullet to the back of his head, that meant his ass needed protecting.

"It shouldn't be. Not like this." He started walking, turning up the street instead of crossing, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "But thanks. How'd it go, yesterday?"

"Well, Ronconi sure as hell isn't you, but that didn't stop Blake from practically wetting his pants when he saw us at the door. He didn't even run, just stood there crying about how it was all an accident. She lost her balance, he panicked, blah blah blah." Jackie looked at him out of the corner of her eye, allowing a small smirk. "It was all very anticlimactic; you'd have been bored out of your mind."


	14. Chapter 14

**cfhonan** - Sooner or later, they'll get there. Thanks!

**shaz1** - Demand away!

**allison **- Oh, Danny's realizing it... but he's still not at rock bottom.

**allie** - Thank you! Here you go!

**A/N: **And more of the aftermath. This story starts to slow down from here, though there WILL be action on Erin's storyline, don't y'all worry!

**-14-**

"You should be home with your wife, Danny. We can look after Erin here."

Danny hadn't been surprised to learn that their father had won the battle over where Erin would be staying; he doubted she wanted to go back to the house anytime soon. He also wasn't surprised at the gentle suggestion that he wasn't up to this.

Well, he was. He'd been expecting something a lot less gentle—and a lot less of a suggestion.

He wasn't too sure he was up to it himself, if he was being honest. Not that he'd made a habit of honesty lately.

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure my wife is happy for a night off from dealing with me." Danny glanced toward the living room, checking that Erin was still upstairs. Through dinner she'd struggled with what to tell Nicky—both with whether fourteen was old enough to be told what had happened to her mom, and whether Erin was prepared to deal with her daughter knowing what happened.

As was typical with his sister, logic and reason had ruled the day; the full details of the attack hadn't hit the press yet, but it was only a matter of time—especially if they caught the guy—and the news was better coming from Erin than from some kid at school.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

"Course you can."

His father sat down, and it took Danny a minute to do the same. He took the couch, resting his forearms on his knees, and drew a ragged breath. He honestly had no idea how his dad would react to what he had to say, but it couldn't possibly be worse than what Linda had hinted at the night before.

Whether she'd meant it—whether she'd really leave him—he didn't know, but his wife wasn't given to bluffing, and she was nothing if not fiercely protective of their boys.

"What's this about, Dan?"

"I screwed up." He forced himself, with concerted effort, to meet his father's gaze as he spoke. "Yesterday. I—Jackie knew I wasn't doing so hot, so she told me to take off and she'd try to track down our suspect and call me when she had a location for him."

"You weren't doing well. You still aren't; don't even have to know you to see that." Perhaps misreading the situation, he went on. "And that's all right, Danny. After what happened, I'd be worried if you were okay."

"That's not… that's not what this is about, Dad."

"Somehow, I didn't think it was." His father mimicked his posture, drastically reducing the space between them, and Danny had to look down at the floor. "You can always tell me anything, Danny. You know that."

Never in his life had Danny been afraid to tell his father something that mattered—cowering under his bed with Joe rather than admitting to knocking over ma's vase throwing a football around the house didn't count. But now the words stuck in his throat, even though he knew there was nothing he had to say that his dad probably hadn't already figured out. "She called me, later, I guess about 1500. I was drunk." He lifted his eyes, because he needed to see his father's reaction, whatever it was. "She had to take this rookie detective out to make the arrest."

True to form, his father kept his composure as he sighed heavily and straightened in his chair. "Yeah, you did screw up. She gonna report it?"

"Jackie? Nah; she told Ronconi I got food poisoning or something. I didn't ask her to. It's just—"

"It's what you do for your partner."

"Yeah, that's what she said." It was the truth, too; he'd have done the same thing if their roles were reversed—that was, if Jackie would ever put him in that position to begin with, which he doubted. "And on top of that, I'm pretty sure Linda threatened to divorce me if I don't get it together."

"Good for her." Danny's head came up, and the shock must have shown on his face. "Don't get me wrong; I wouldn't wish divorce on the two of you, much less those boys of yours. But Linda's too smart not to see where you're headed—and that kind of environment is no place to bring up children."

Danny's throat closed. His father had never been one to pull punches and Danny hadn't gone into this expecting his dad to take it easy on him, but to say that… "That's kinda harsh—all of a sudden I'm unfit to raise my kids?" He got to his feet, feeling a little lightheaded, but his father was faster.

"Walk out of here now, Danny, and you'll be answering that question yourself far better than I ever could." Danny stared down at his dad's hand, loosely wrapped around his bicep. "Sit down, son."

"Dad—" He hated the weakness he could hear in his own voice.

"Sit." It sounded less like an order that time and Danny let himself be guided back to the couch. This time, his father sat beside him. "Talk to me."

His breath shook a little. "I don't know what to say."

"Why don't you start with why you're drinking so much lately, and go from there."

"It's easier." The answer the rolled off his tongue was the most honest reply he could give, though he knew it wasn't much of one at all. "It's not that I need to drink, Dad." He held up a steady hand; he knew what the symptoms of withdrawal looked like, and he wasn't suffering from them. "But it makes things easier."

"The physical addiction isn't there, but the emotional dependency is." His father pressed his lips together, waiting for something Danny could give him—not yet. "It's called early stage alcoholism, Danny. Before things get really bad, though they're certainly bad enough."

Danny flinched at that word, and stared down at his hands. "You really—"

"Dan, I've watched for years as you fought—and fought hard—not to go down this path, and I've had to watch for the last several months as you lost that fight. But you had to get here on your own; there was nothing any of us could do until you did."

His father stood, crossing to his desk. He pulled something from the middle drawer, which he handed to Danny. It was a folded sheet from an NYPD notepad, with days, times and addresses, and the names of a couple of churches. "What's this?"

His dad shoved his hands into his pockets. "Holy Rosary opens its doors to a chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous every Monday night. There are plenty of other meetings in the area, but I know someone who's been a regular there for years—another cop, so somebody in the department would know, though he certainly doesn't now."

Danny stared down at the handwriting, definitely his father's. "What's the other?"

"Al-anon. In case Linda could use a little help. It's a good group of people there; I've gone once or twice myself."

Surprise won out over the other emotions swirling around Danny's mind. "You have?"

"It's not easy to stand back and watch your oldest son drown himself, Danny." He drew a heavy breath, releasing it slowly, and he nodded at the note clutched in Danny's hand. "I can't make you go. But I hope you'll think about it."

He rested a hand on Danny's shoulder. "Now, go on home to your wife. Jamie will drive you; we've got this tonight."

"I can drive—"

"Just because you're sober, doesn't necessarily mean you're in any shape to get behind the wheel of a car. Let your brother give you a lift; do it for your old man."

#

Erin hugged herself, glad of the warmth her pilfered USMC sweatshirt offered, and padded into her father's study. "Where's Danny?"

Her father looked over the top of his glasses at her, but didn't move from behind his desk. "Jamie drove him home. He's got a few things to sort out; I'm sure he'll be by tomorrow."

"Was he drinking again?"

"No." He shook his head once, sharply. "Not today. How did things go with Nicky?"

Erin didn't answer. She crossed to the decanter and poured herself a couple fingers of Scotch. Raising the glass to her lips, she felt a momentary touch of guilt. Here they were, on Danny's case because of his habit of drinking away his problems, and was she really any better? "Badly," she said after downing about half of it. It burned a little, going down, but not as much as it used to. "I shouldn't have done that over the phone."

"You couldn't do it face-to-face without risking exposing her to him," he pointed out needlessly.

She knew. She'd almost asked Jamie to go and bring her daughter here anyway, but the truth was that she wasn't sure she'd have been able to get the words out while staring into her little girl's eyes.

"Yeah. And now my ex-husband is the one she'll be going to when she wakes up at three in the morning with nightmares." She stared down at the amber liquid in her glass. "I want my life back."

"I wanted to talk to you about that." He finally closed the folder in front of him. "I don't think we're going to have a shot at him while you're hiding out here. Not that I blame you, and not that I want to take the chance of him getting anywhere near you."

"But you don't think we have a choice." She tossed back the last of her drink and set the glass down. "How and when?"

"As soon as you're back to work." The question carried easily in his voice.

"Tomorrow then."

He sighed. "Erin—"

"No." She shook her head. "This is non-negotiable. I can't—I _won't_—keep hiding out here. Half the building has to know what happened, and the sooner I face them…" Erin looked down, visually tracing the pattern in the rug beneath her feet. "The sooner I face him, even if I don't know him to look at him, the sooner I can start feeling normal again."

"Erin, you've been through something that it takes time to recover from."

"I'm well aware of that, dad."

"There's no shame in giving yourself that time."

She curled into the corner of the couch, drawing her feet up and underneath her. "Spending all day under the covers in my old bed isn't going to get me to stop jumping out of my skin whenever anyone touches me. Did you see the look on Jamie's face when he tried to hug me?" He'd put an arm around her, tried to give her a kiss on the forehead, and she'd frozen up completely, hyperventilating and damn near dissolving into tears. He'd stumbled over himself apologizing, and so had she, and now he was afraid to come anywhere near her lest he trigger another panic attack.

"Jamie's young. He's never dealt with… this before."

She ignored him; that wasn't the point, anyway. "Danny can barely look at me, for the guilt—and he's still acting the closest to normal out of any of you." Erin frowned down at her nails. "But maybe that's because his new normal is so off base I can't tell the difference."

"Danny knows you better than Jamie does, and he's dealt with rape victims before." Erin's back went rigid when he actually said it; it was the first time she'd heard any of them use that word. "Jamie will learn, with time, that it's not about him."

Erin lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. "And you?"

"You are my daughter, and it kills me to know what that bastard did to you." He took his glasses off and laid them on the desk, rubbing his eyes one-handed. "I think I need a little time myself."

"Well, I think I've taken all the time I can tolerate. I haven't been out of this house in three days, and while, I admit, I haven't really been ready to face the world, hiding out in my father's house isn't going to make any of this go away." She offered him a small smile and he, grudgingly, responded in kind. "And I know that walking into work, being surrounded by people who know what happened isn't going to be easy, but it's something I need to do."

He didn't like the idea, she knew, and not because he didn't think she was ready. Here, in this house, she was safe. He and the boys could protect her; there was always someone armed by her side. Going back to work, deliberately putting herself out in the open—it was a risk he wasn't ready to take just yet. "You've always been stubborn."

"Can't imagine where I got it from."

"Your mother's side," he muttered dryly. "Undoubtedly, your mother's side."


	15. Chapter 15

**shaz1** - It definitely took guts; I think he's finally getting ready to admit he can't continue to live like this... but the question is whether he is prepared to do something about it.

**allison **- Thanks for the review; here's your update!

**allie** - You will definitely learn what happened to him, but it won't be for a while yet. As for him taking his dad's advice... you'll have to wait and see. And there is a lot of interaction between Danny and Erin from here to the end, don't you worry about that.

**A/N: **I posted a second chapter to The Whole Truth, and may spin a story off of what's revealed there, so I could really use some feedback on the way I've portrayed Danny in that story. Much obliged if you all would read and review!

**-15-**

Danny leaned one shoulder against the frame of his sister's open office door. "How you doing?"

"I'm pretty sure I know how a goldfish feels," Erin replied, forcing a smile. "Could you… close that?"

"Sure." He crossed the threshold at her request, and she jumped when the door clicked shut. Danny dropped his head to the side and studied her carefully. "You okay?" She looked pale and tired; he could relate.

"Jumpy." She took a couple of shallow breaths and then shook her head. "Danny, I feel like I'm going crazy. Everyone is looking at me like they think I'm about to shatter. I thought I was ready, but I can't deal with this. I thought the hard part would be being near people. And it isn't easy but compared to feeling eyes on me everywhere I go, that's a piece of cake."

She came around the desk and he hesitated before closing the distance between them. "Can I…?"

It was her turn to hesitate, and she swallowed before nodding. "Please."

Danny hugged her then, feeling her entire body go rigid before she relaxed—a little. It was far from her typical hug, but it was something. "You need a couple extra days, you should take them. Nobody'll blame you."

"I will." She drew back and blinked, and Danny pretended not to notice the hint of tears in her eyes. "I'll be okay. It's—this is what I wanted to avoid, you know?" She turned away from him, and feigned interest in the files sliding all over the corner of her desk. "People knowing, staring at me. It's why I didn't want to file a police report in the first place. And it happened anyway. And then some."

He didn't point out to her that he'd backed her up, thinking that keeping it in the family was the best way to catch the sick son of a bitch. Or that the only thing she'd done wrong was trust her older brother to keep her safe. She knew those things, and a reminder wouldn't help. "We're gonna get this guy, Erin."

"I know."

"I mean it." He did. He'd failed once; over his dead body would it happen a second time.

"I know, Danny. I trust you."

He didn't argue, didn't bother questioning whether that was a good idea. He just didn't feel up to a debate. "You ready?"

"Not even close. You'll be there?"

"Every step of the way."

Erin smiled wryly. "Then let's do it."

Danny managed a pretty weak grin of his own as he retreated to open the door. "After you."

It didn't take long to pick up on what she'd been complaining about; eyes followed them down the hall, around the corner, to the elevator. "I'll pick you up tonight," he said, his finger on the call button.

"Did you tell Linda you'd be home?"

"Nope." He didn't look at her, and braced himself for the backlash, acting job though it would be.

"Damn it, Danny, I told you—" She kept her voice low, an angry edge to it that anyone could easily pick up on, whether or not they might be able to hear the words. Erin stabbed at the call button when he didn't press it himself. "He got what he wanted." She almost choked on the words, and he wanted to reach out to her, but resisted for the sake of whoever might be watching. "Just let it go."

"I know guys like this, Erin. He's not finished. He was pissed off at us for getting between him and you, and he figured he'd show off—prove to me that he could get to you if he had to go through me to do it." It was easy to summon the necessary emotion behind those words, because he believed every last one. "He's coming back, and sticking your head in the sand isn't gonna do anything but make it easier for him to get to you."

Erin trembled, visibly, at his words but she still held her ground. "You can give me a ride, Danny, but that's it. It's about time you spent a little time at home with your family, don't you think?" It was part of the script, but that didn't dull the sting.

He didn't need to remind himself to set his jaw and look angry as he stepped into the elevator; he almost didn't even turn around to look at her as the doors closed.

But he did, just in time to see her mouth the words, "I'm sorry."

#

"You sure about this?" Danny grabbed Erin's arm as she started to push the door open, and for a moment she wondered if he was being serious. She had one foot in the door and he nearly pulled her back outside. "Erin, I got a bad feeling about this."

He was being serious. It didn't mean he wasn't sticking to the plan, but he meant every word he said and it sent a chill down her spine. She trusted her brother's instincts—his problems notwithstanding, what had happened the last time he'd been charged with protecting her notwithstanding. Danny hadn't had as much success as he'd had, and survived this long on the streets, relying on skill alone. She had her own instincts, and a lot of the time they paid dividends, but Danny far surpassed her.

She drew her phone from her pocket and flashed it at him, proving the battery was fully charged. "I'll glue it to my hand, okay? Anything, even a dog barks, and I'll call you."

"Call dad. He can get here faster."

No, he couldn't, because Danny was going to be sitting in his car the next street over, all night long if he had to. But if this bastard was listening, he needed to believe Danny was headed home, back to Staten Island and his wife and his kids. It was where he needed to be, and Erin damped down on the flash of guilt that she was keeping him from them, again. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

He spread his hands. "What're you worrying about me for?"

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled. "You know, there are so many ways I could answer that. Get some rest, Danny. I'll call if I need you. I promise." Before she could change her mind, she leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay." He gave that little smile that said plainly he wasn't happy but was bowing out gracefully. "I want a phone call every hour on the hour," he called over his shoulder as he started down the sidewalk.

#

Danny had his keys out in his hand, trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach long enough to get around the corner before he did something to blow his father's well-laid plans. He resisted the urge to glance around, to try to figure out where this guy might be hiding. The house was secure, a detective on the inside since before Erin had called to let Danny know that she was ready to head home, and at least two cars on the street were unmarked department vehicles—occupied, he knew, even though a casual glance couldn't confirm that.

He had his door open and one foot inside the car when he heard Erin scream.


	16. Chapter 16

**allison **- I used to leave every chapter a cliffhanger; be glad I've matured beyond the need for useless suspense, lol. Enjoy!

**allie** - If interaction is what you want, there is plenty still to come.

**A/N: **So here's a nice long one for you. And while I hate begging for reviews, I know there are more than three people out there reading this! Reviews are my encouragement, so please let me know what you think!

**-16-**

Car doors slammed shut as his father's hand-picked team materialized, racing for the house. The door flew open under the force of a well-aimed kick and Danny went through, weapon raised, flanked on either side by detectives, one of them speaking into his radio.

Erin clung to a doorframe, tears pouring down her face. Danny jerked his head, gesturing his backup to clear the house before turning away from his hysterical sister.

The body of Detective First Grade Alicia Lewis lay face up in the middle of Erin's living room floor. Danny pressed his fingertips to her wrist, not expecting to find a pulse. The killer had slit her throat and then left the knife embedded in her chest, no doubt an unnecessary wound.

Movement from the kitchen caught his eye and he turned, bringing his weapon to bear before he recognized the plainclothes officers assigned to guard the house.

Lot of good they'd done.

"Place is clear, Reagan," the one, an old-timer named Scott Feary that Danny had worked with way back when, called to him as he holstered his weapon.

The other dragged a hand over his face. "Jesus."

Erin had sunk to the floor, knees drawn to her chest and shaking violently. "Call it in," Danny barked before moving to kneel next to his sister. He grabbed Erin by the shoulders and shook her gently. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, trembling in his grip, the tears not stopping. "She—Danny, he—" She gave up talking and buried her head in his shoulder. He stayed there, holding onto her, his body positioned between her and the body. With some effort he dug out his cell phone, dialing their father.

"Lewis is dead, dad. She was dead when Erin walked in the door. He knew it was a trap."

His dad didn't ask where the plainclothes cops had been, which was something Danny really wanted to know. Nor did he ask how Lewis was killed, or how the killer had gotten into the house—or if he'd left behind any evidence, and Danny was praying they'd get something off the knife, or that Lewis had put up a fight before he'd killed her. "How is Erin?"

"How do you think?"

Danny thought he could hear his dad biting his tongue, and felt just a little bit of guilt for snapping at him. "Put her on the phone, Dan."

He handed his cell over to Erin and left her to talk to his father as sirens shattered the relative quiet. The first uniform through the door was, predictably, Jamie. His brother blanched visibly at seeing the body and any other time Danny might have given him hell for reacting that way. But he knew what was going through Jamie's head—that could just as easily have been their sister.

"What the hell happened?"

Danny shook his head. "Don't know yet." He gritted his teeth. It killed him to admit it, but he couldn't blame Feary, or the other guy. Erin hadn't been home; everyone, himself included, had assumed that her stalker would have been watching the DA's office. They'd needed to be in place before she got home, so as not to attract his attention, but they weren't expecting anything.

He was more angry at himself. He'd been five feet away, standing in front of the half-open front door, and had no idea that a woman lay dead inside his sister's apartment. "God damn it."

"How did he know?" Jamie pressed, and Danny glared.

"The hell do I know?

"Danny." The interruption, keeping Danny from saying something he might regret later—might regret—came in the form of Erin's scratchy voice, punctuated by sniffling. "He wants to talk to you."

He took the phone back while Jamie took over at her side, hugging her tightly. CSU was milling around, already talking about how the killer might have gotten inside, so Danny headed out front where he might actually stand a chance of hearing himself think. "Yeah, dad?"

"As soon as you're done there, have her pack what she needs and bring her here."

"You sure? I figured I'd leave her here alone. I mean, it happened in the living room—I'm sure her bedroom's fine."

"Danny." He could picture his father's stern expression and bit his own tongue. "Bring her here, and then go home, pack up your wife and kids, and I want you here too—and Jamie, the second his tour ends. This wasn't about Erin; this was about us."

Danny turned away from the street as the medical examiner's van pulled up to the curb. He could just see Jamie helping Erin to her feet. "I'll call Linda now, dad, and tell her to be ready."

"Take care of yourself, Danny."

"You too. I'll call you when we can get her out of here." Danny hung up and a chill ran down his spine as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. He turned away from the house very slowly, searching for anything out of place—beyond the police cruisers, CSU and ME vehicles, at any rate. When nothing jumped out at him, he headed back into the house, unable to shake the feeling that his sister's assailant lingered just beyond his grasp.

#

"How're the boys?" Danny asked, stretching to kiss his wife's cheek as she stood at the sink in his father's kitchen. She rinsed the pan lid in her hand and turned to return his kiss as she set it down.

"You know them—excited to spend the night at Grandpa's; they don't care why."

"Where's my dad?" Danny opened the fridge, the note from his father burning a hole in his wallet as he reached for a beer. He didn't miss the look Linda shot him as he popped the top off, and he scowled past her at the dark kitchen window. "Linda?"

"He and Jamie and Erin are in the study. They're just waiting on you." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked pointedly at his drink. "Danny—"

"I just spent the afternoon standing over the body of a murdered cop—killed by a sick son of a bitch I haven't been able to catch. Give me a break, Linda."

She held up her hands, not even trying to argue. It was possible he heard her mutter something under her breath about letting his father deal with him, but he might have just imagined that. Either way, it wasn't worth a fight in his dad's kitchen—he stood no chance of winning if it came down to that.

Erin sat curled in one corner of the couch, in the same defensive posture she seemed most comfortable in since the assault. It wasn't remotely cold in the house, but she had a blanket around her shoulders and a cup of hot tea in her hands. Danny had an inkling it was spiked with something—if it wasn't, it sure should've been.

His father looked up when he entered, the bottle in Danny's hand drawing his attention almost immediately, and Danny steeled himself for the inevitable rebuke. It never came. His dad's eyes lingered only a few seconds before they focused again on Erin. "Now that we're all here, we can discuss what a resounding failure today's operation was—and, more importantly, why."

All three pairs of eyes went to Danny on that, as if he could produce answers out of some magic hat. "I don't know. I mean, I know our performance by the elevators wasn't exactly Oscar material," he admitted, gesturing between himself and Erin, "but I thought it was pretty good." His sister nodded. "Who knew about this, on your end?" he asked his dad.

"Baker, and those involved, as well as their superior officers."

Danny nodded, mostly to himself, and looked over at Erin. "How about you? You tell anybody?" God, he hoped so.

"No one. Assuming it's someone working in my building, I didn't want to take a chance of word getting to the wrong person." She shook her head slowly, and the left corners of her lips quirked upward. "What does it say that there was no one I trusted in my office enough to talk about this to?"

"It says you're smart," Danny replied, before anyone else could answer. "So, safe to rule out a leak?" He glanced around the room, and both his father and Erin nodded; Jamie shrugged. Danny took a long pull from his beer. That put them right where he'd been afraid they'd end up. "Which means this son of a bitch is just a lot smarter than we were giving him credit for."

His father nodded agreement. "And it means that a repeat of today is out of the question."

Erin's eyes went wide and she tightened her grip on the blanket. "I certainly hope so."

"He means, a trap like today ain't gonna work." Danny finished his drink and debated the wisdom of getting a second. He let his head fall back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling, wishing that for just once in his life, he might actually see an answer written there in big, bold letters. "We need to make him think he's a step ahead of us again."

"How are we supposed to do that?" Jamie asked.

"I don't know yet, kid." He pushed off the wall and started pacing. "He's pissed off. I don't know what it was—maybe it was that we had the audacity to try to set him up. Either way, he's not the same guy we were dealing with last week."

"What do you mean?" The question came from Erin, but he could see the same inquiry in Jamie's eyes.

"Sunday night, he could've killed me—should've—but he didn't." Erin flinched, and Jamie moved to sit next to her. "Today, he murdered a female cop to send a message. If I didn't know it was the same guy, I'd say it was two entirely different people." He looked to his father for confirmation, and he nodded.

"He undoubtedly realized that he made a mistake leaving you alive on Sunday. But that isn't why he killed Lewis today. Danny's right; Lewis was a message, nothing more, and he won't hesitate to send another."

Jamie stretched an arm out along the back of the couch, behind Erin. She curled into his side, head resting on his shoulder. "But this guy isn't just a stalker, or…" Jamie swallowed, visibly, and looked down at Erin, her eyes shut tight. "He's a cop killer now; there's nobody in the department doesn't want to see to it we catch him before he kills another one."

"True enough." Their father nodded. "But a massive manhunt won't catch this guy for us; unless CSU turns up something at the house—and I'm not confident they will, given that he left no evidence at Erin's, even as rushed as he was—we have nothing to go on. We need a trap, but one he won't see coming."

Danny tossed his empty bottle into the trash can beside the desk; it hit loud enough that Erin jumped. Jamie glared at him. "Sorry. But I realized—he knew there's no way we were leaving Erin alone. Sure, he's gotta know enough about her to know there's not much point arguing with her when she's made up her mind, but he also has to know there's no way you or I were leaving her alone with him still on the streets."

"So it was just too obvious?" Jamie asked.

"Exactly. But we don't have to go that route again. We set it up that way because we figured he wouldn't come after her if she had bodyguards around. But now that we know he's not afraid to kill a cop, there's no reason to make her look unguarded." Danny drained his beer. "So we make him think he can take whoever's keeping an eye on her. Should be easy enough; he took me out once already."

"What about me?" Jamie asked, but Danny protested almost before he had the chance to ask the question.

"No way am I putting you in the ring with this guy. And there's no need to give him a weaker target." Danny softened his voice in hopes Jamie wouldn't take it as a personal affront, but judging by his brother's face.

Jamie shoved violently of the wall. "Weaker—damn it, Danny, I can handle myself."

Danny shook his head. "Not saying you can't, kid. But we took enough chances already and it hasn't gotten us anywhere good. If we're setting anybody up as a target here, it's gonna be me."

"I've got a gun and a badge too, you know." Jamie got into Danny's face, standing toe-to-toe with him. "I'm not some dumb rookie anymore."

Only when their father cleared his throat did Jamie step back. "As much as I hate to say it, Danny is right." When Danny glared at his father, he waved him off. "I don't mean it like that. But the fact is, Jamie, that Detective Lewis had eleven years on the Force and now she's dead. Danny would be, if Erin's stalker hadn't still been listening to his conscience that night. I don't want to put either of you in a position to need to hold him off by yourselves, but since I have no other choice, Danny's the best option."

Jamie scowled at the floor, and their father narrowed his eyes. "Jamie, I'm not talking about strength here, or who's a better shot. I'm talking about pure survival skills, and if it comes down to it, Danny has a better shot at keeping both himself and Erin alive and in one piece until backup arrives."

Jamie's expression spoke clearly what he thought about that, but he bit his tongue and nodded shortly. "Fine."

Their dad looked between them, his expression guarded, as if he expected world war three to break out at any moment. Danny didn't miss the glance he shot at the empty beer bottle, either, but appreciated him not saying anything more about it with Jamie in the room.

Danny harbored no illusions that they weren't talking about him behind his back, but he'd just as soon keep it there.

"All right then." Their dad removed his glasses, resting them upside down on the corner of the desk. "Here's what I have in mind."


	17. Chapter 17

**shaz1 -** If he doesn't, I don't think he'd be able to live with himself.**  
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**allison **- Sorry the update was a day late - real life, and all that jazz. You won't see here what the plan is, but I think it's a pretty good chapter all the same.

**allie** - Hope this one meets your standards as well! Thanks for the review!

**A/N: **I believe I've mentioned how Danny hadn't yet hit rock bottom? Please review!

**-17-**

Jamie watched his brother leave the room, his shoulders tenser even than they'd been when he walked in. There was no doubt in his mind Danny was heading for the nearest bottle, their presence, and that of Linda and the boys, notwithstanding. "You try to talk to him?"

All he got in response from his father was a raised eyebrow, not that Jamie had expected anything more. It was longstanding tradition; what went on between their dad and one of them, their father wouldn't divulge.

"He's in trouble." The eyebrow didn't move, though his father picked up his glasses, twisting one arm between two fingers; that was answer enough. "How are we supposed to help him?"

"Addiction's a difficult thing, Jamie." He sat back, replacing his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "If it's hard for us to admit he's an alcoholic, how do you think it feels to him?"

#

Danny poured himself a nearly full glass of Scotch, no ice—his fourth, maybe more, of the night. He wasn't really sure. Feeling eyes on his back and unwilling to turn around to see which overly concerned family member they belonged to, he slipped out the kitchen door and into the driveway. It was Erin's car, not his, parked closest, but that didn't stop him from leaning against it as he drank.

He supposed it was a good sign that, even after everything, his dad still thought he stood a better shot at protecting Erin, and himself, than Jamie did. When his dad had first started talking, he'd thought he was out, completely. They might have all been better off that way.

Swirling his glass slowly, Danny dug out the sheet of paper his dad had handed him the night before.

Church names and addresses, days and times. Nothing more than that. Nowhere did it say 'alcoholic' but the letters screamed it at him just the same.

He took a long drink, still staring at a sheet of paper his father had given him as he'd called him a drunk, and then stared at the glass in his hand.

Maybe his dad was right.

The sound of the door brought with it a warm breeze from the kitchen—and his brother. Jamie stood on the top step, hands shoved in his pockets and his head down. "You okay?"

There was nothing confrontational in his tone; Danny could feel the worry rolling off him as he descended the stairs. He looked back down into his drink, not wanting to see whatever emotion lurked behind his brother's eyes. "I'm good."

"I can see that."

"Then why ask, if you figure you already knew the answer?" Danny threw back the rest of the glass and debated his chances of getting another drink without a physical altercation.

"Maybe because I was hoping you'd tell me the truth." Jamie finally lifted his head, rubbing the back of his neck over the black turtleneck sweater. "Look, Danny, I know things between us haven't been right for a long time, but… you're my brother, and I know you're in trouble." He dropped his head to the side. "I want to help, is all."

Danny set his glass down on the hood of Erin's car, and then picked it up again almost immediately, wanting something to do with his hands. "I can take care of myself."

It was a lie, and he knew it. They all knew it, and they all knew where he'd be without the family. In a VA hospital somewhere, if he was lucky. More likely, in an alley huddled under a threadbare blanket—or six feet underground.

"Yeah, you're doing a great job of it." Danny stiffened, but otherwise didn't allow himself to react. "I'm not a rookie, Danny. No matter how you want to look at me, I know my job. I'm good at it. I can _do_ this."

"Were you—were you awake in there?" Danny swung his hand out, a little sloppy as he almost hit Jamie in the face. "You're gonna be doing it, Jamie. Sometimes backup is more important than the front line." He meant that, wholeheartedly. "That guy coulda killed me Sunday night, Jamie. He let me live once, and he's not gonna make the same mistake again. Do you get that?"

"I get that you're thinking that he _isn't_ gonna make the mistake again, and you figure if it gets down to it, better you than me he puts a bullet in?"

#

"…better you than me he puts a bullet in?" Jamie watched Danny's jaw tighten as he spoke, getting no pleasure when Danny jerked away from him at the last few words, stumbling forward a step. "Jesus, Danny. Dad know you've got a death wish?" He had half a mind to turn around and tell his father there was no way in hell they were putting Danny between Erin and a cop killer.

"I don't plan on getting myself killed, Jamie." The protest came out a little slurred. "I plan on not letting this son of a bitch get his hands on Erin—or, for that matter, you—again."

"What happened to you?"

"Oh, come on, Jamie. You know the answer to that question." Danny spread his hands in a broad gesture. "You were listening, in the hospital, right? Or is that not enough? For me to be this fucked up, it's gotta be something worse?"

His brother shoved off Erin's car, the glass in his hand hitting the ground with a crash. Jamie glanced quickly over his shoulder, seeing the curtain behind him flutter. God, he hoped it wasn't one of his nephews. Danny stumbled over his own feet, or nothing at all, and Jamie reached out to steady him, but he tried to jerk himself free. "Get the hell off of me." But Jamie hung on, lest his brother knock himself out on the hood of their sister's car or something.

"I'm just trying to help, Danny."

"I don't need your help." Danny scowled at him, and when he finally jerked free, almost knocking Jamie down, Jamie lost it.

"Jesus, Danny, what's it gonna take? Your kids gotta see you like this? Maybe you get yourself a DUI? Wrap your car around a tree?" His brother started walking away, to where Jamie didn't know and didn't really care. "You never need anybody's help, do you, Danny? You didn't need it Sunday night either, I bet."

Danny spun so fast, Jamie didn't even have time to duck the fist aimed for his jaw.


	18. Chapter 18

**allison **- Thanks! Hope you like this update!

**A/N: **This is one of my favorites... and only 9 more chapters to go after this one!

**-18-**

Danny followed his brother to the ground, fingers tangled in his collar, and landed another punch, this one square in the eye. Jamie's head bounced off the driveway, and he dimly heard his brother cry out. Arm cocked back for another blow, he never saw his father fly through the kitchen door, just felt hands hauling him off his brother and onto his feet. His dad's strong arms circled his chest, restraining him as his sister knelt by Jamie's side, eyeing him warily.

He didn't know where Erin had come from, or where the blood on his brother's mouth and his own hand had come from, for that matter. He didn't know when his boys came outside, their mother trying to pull them back in before they could see their father take another piece out of their Uncle Jamie.

He straightened, shaking his father off—no easy feat, since he didn't seem keen on letting him go. "You okay, Danny?" There was an edge to his father's voice that Danny didn't hear all that often, and he nodded even though he was anything but. He reached a hand out, offering to help his brother to his feet, but Jamie wouldn't take it. He let Erin help him up instead, fingers going to his split lip, and then to the back of his head, and the two of them moved past Danny a little too cautiously and into the house.

Linda and the boys had already disappeared inside.

Danny hung his head, massaging his knuckles lightly. He stared down at the ground, the glow of the outside spotlight glinting off the shattered remains of his glass. His stomach lurched as he made out the wet smear of blood on the blacktop, just at the edge of the light.

He didn't know how long they stood in silence before his father cleared his throat. "You want to tell me what that was all about?"

Danny waved him off, not because he didn't want to answer, but because he didn't have an answer. The anger coursing through him only minutes earlier was gone, and he couldn't remember what had triggered it. He couldn't recall what Jamie had said, what he'd even said himself.

He turned back toward the house in time to see his father bend down to retrieve a crumpled, white sheet of paper, dotted with the few drops of Scotch Danny had left in the bottom of the glass. He held it out and Danny stared at it, not quite willing to take it.

"You need help, Dan. And whenever you're willing to see that, you know where to find us." His father pressed the note into his hand before turning to head back into the house.

#

Leaving her grandfather to clean the cut on the back of Jamie's head, Erin headed for the kitchen to get him an ice pack; they'd always been in plentiful supply in the Reagan household. She found Danny standing there alone, no drink in sight, staring blankly at the wall.

Even the lost look in his eyes couldn't chase away her own fear—or her anger, at both of them. Jamie's raised voice had drawn her to the window, and when she heard the things he'd said, she'd wanted to hit him herself. But seeing Danny launch himself at Jamie, intent on doing damage… her chest tightened at the memory.

His shaky voice brought her back to the present, though her eyes lingered on his bloody knuckles. "How's Jamie?"

"Black eye, split lip. Maybe a concussion." She slid her hands into her pockets and leaned against the wall. "I think he's a little scared of you at the moment. I know your boys are." It was harsh, she knew, but something he needed to hear. "Linda's telling them you're sick, but I think they're having a hard time understanding what that has to do with you trying to kill their uncle."

Danny's face remained blank, but his eyes were brimming with emotion. "I wasn't trying—"

Erin held up a hand and he went silent instantly. "If you two had been alone, you could have killed him, Danny." He flinched, and she felt a moment's regret, but this had to be said, as much as it broke her heart to make her brother feel even worse. "As it is, if I hadn't heard him yelling, you could have hurt him a lot worse."

Danny didn't argue, or deny. He simply asked where Linda and the boys were. They were upstairs, camped out on the air mattress "They already saw you beating up on Jamie; they don't need you stumbling in there, slurring your words. They're kids; they're resilient. They'll be okay, but you need to stay away from them right now. At least until you're sober."

She thought he'd argue, maybe even ignore her and go looking for them. But he stayed where he was, and met her gaze. The pain there startled her. "Could you get my wife? Please?"

Erin wasn't sure Linda would want to see him, and if she refused to come it would only make things worse. But she nodded. "Just… stay here, okay?"

#

Linda tucked the blanket up over Jack's shoulders and stood, flinching at the soft footfalls coming down the hall. She didn't think it was Danny; she hoped to God it wasn't him.

It was Erin.

She motioned Linda out of the bedroom, and closed the door nearly all the way behind her. "Danny wanted to see the boys, I think, but I told him that needed to wait until he cleaned himself up. Sobered up. But he asked if I'd get you."

"I don't think I can talk to him right now." She could hear her sons' questions, see their scared little faces, every time she closed her eyes.

"Linda…" Erin looked down at her hands, hair slipping loose from where she'd tucked it behind her ear, mostly covering the remaining shadow of a bruise. "He's hurting, and whether or not he'll admit it, he's scared. Of what he's doing to himself, of losing you and the boys. I want to strangle him myself, because for the life of me, I can't understand why he can't just admit it. But I guess that's the thing about being an alcoholic, right? And I think he's almost there."

Linda glanced over her shoulder at the door, and pulled it shut the rest of the way. "I hear things, you know? From you and Jamie, from some of the other wives, about the things he does. And I've seen him angry, but never like that." Never, in fifteen years of marriage, had she seen her husband so violently out of control. It scared her. She hated to admit it, but it scared her to death.

Linda met her sister-in-law's gaze. "What am I supposed to do?"

She figured Erin would offer some meager bit of advice, hollow as it might have been. But she just shook her head. "God, I wish I knew."

Linda took the stairs slowly, and glanced into Frank's study as she passed by the open door. He sat at his desk, staring off into space, glasses twirling back and forth between his fingertips. She heard Jamie and Henry, their voices so low she couldn't make out the words—though she did hear her husband's name once or twice.

Danny sat on the floor in the kitchen, his back against the wall beside the back door. Linda hung in the doorway a moment or two, watching, waiting until he noticed her standing there. He looked terrible—no doubt, not as bad as his brother. His shirt was dotted with dried blood, and she could make out a smear of red on his hands despite the dim light.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not the one you need to say that to," she replied quietly, not moving from her post.

"Yeah you are." He lifted his gaze to meet hers and she felt her anger start to melt away—though the fear held fast. That look in his eyes—she'd seen it before. When he'd finally come home after that unbearably long second tour, he'd looked haunted, like it took everything he had to stay steps ahead of whatever demons had dogged him across the warfront. "God, Linda, I'm so sorry."

The fury that had taken hold of him on the driveway was long gone; she doubted he even had the energy to stand at that moment. So she went to him, kneeling down beside him, taking one of his hands between both of his. "I know."

He was; that much, she knew without question. He regretted what had just happened, just as he regretted every night he'd spent getting drunk rather than spending time with his family. The problem was that all the regret in the world didn't seem able to convince him to keep it from happening again.

"Sorry isn't enough, Danny." She carded her fingers lightly through his hair and down the side of his face, fingertips brushing his chin. "I love you more than anything, but I'm not even sure that's enough, anymore."

She linked her fingers through his. "I know the things you've done—what you're all willing to have me know, anyway. I know you go too far, sometimes. And most of the time I can't bring myself to care too much. Sick son of a bitch kidnaps a little girl, he deserves whatever happens to him." She looked down into her lap, and kept her hold on his hand. "Maybe I should've cared more, but it was easy not to, because I never saw it."

"Linda—" Calling the word a whisper was being generous.

She pressed a finger to his lips. "If you get help, Danny, if you fight this? I will be there with you every step of the way. But I will not live my life afraid of my husband, and I will not have my children grow up afraid of their father."

Danny froze, his fingers stilling on hers. "I would never hurt you."

"You'd never hurt your brother, either. Have you seen him, Danny? Have you seen what you did to his face?" She shook her head slowly, and pressed her lips together, breathing shallowly herself. "I have never been afraid of you, Danny, and I don't want to start. But I can't make this decision for you."

It took everything she had to stand up and walk away from him, but she needed to escape before seeing him sitting there broke her completely.


	19. Chapter 19

**allison **- Whether this is enough for Danny to admit he needs help - well, you'll just have to wait and see. But if emotion is what you want, the rest of this story is absolutely fraught with it.

**A/N: **A bit more fallout, and Frank's plan put into motion.

**-19-**

Danny didn't see Jamie at all until the following morning, in the kitchen over coffee. A ring of black shadowed his right eye, and his lip was split and swollen. He gave Danny a wide berth as he emptied the carafe into a mug, and Danny thought he saw him jump when he turned around and they came face to face.

"I'm sorry." He didn't make a habit of apologizing, and especially not to Jamie—for better or for worse, and he saw the recognition in Jamie's eyes when he spoke. "You didn't say anything I didn't deserve, and I shouldn't've lost it like that. I know sorry doesn't change anything, but I am."

"You're right. It doesn't change anything." Jamie stared down into his coffee cup, adding too much sugar. Then his head came up so fast that Danny stepped back, out of the line of fire. "You want to make it right? Quit drinking. Get some help. Tell _somebody_ what's going on in that fucked up head of yours, Danny. Because I'm done, okay?"

Danny recoiled from the venom in his brother's voice, and by the time he recovered enough to speak, not that he had a clue what to say, Jamie was gone. And the kitchen door might as well have been revolving; no sooner had Jamie left the kitchen than his father appeared. Danny turned away and tore off a paper towel, wiping up the mess his brother had left behind. "He'll cool off, if you give him a little time."

"Doesn't matter if he doesn't." Danny dropped the sopping wet towel into the trash and stayed where he was, facing away from his dad. "He's right."

"Yes. He is."

Everything from last night after his attempt at pounding his brother into the driveway was a little fuzzy, but he was pretty sure his wife had told him that both she and his sons were afraid of him.

He wasn't sure he could live with that.

"How, uh… these meetings? How do they work?" He couldn't bring himself to face his father as he asked the question. "I just… show up?"

"You just show up," his dad repeated. "You don't even have to say a word, if you aren't ready to." He joined Danny by the counter and set to cleaning out the coffeemaker. "You may not believe this, Danny, but I'm proud of you."

"I haven't made it there yet." He wasn't sure he would. He'd faced the wrong end of a gun barrel more times than he cared to think about, and the thought of walking into a room in the basement of some church scared him to death.

"You will. You don't have it in you to turn your back on your family."

#

Erin curled in the corner of the couch with a legal brief on her lap. Linda and the boys were at her mother's again, safely out of the way of whatever was coming, and Jamie was upstairs somewhere, keeping his distance from Danny. Their father had determined that, whatever had happened the night before, things needed to go ahead as planned, and that meant keeping Danny and Jamie under the same roof tonight, at least for now.

The tension between them was so thick, Erin felt like she couldn't breathe.

Danny, for his part, paced back and forth in front of the window, an empty beer bottle in his hand. Even if she could have focused on the brief in front of her without him there, his presence, and his agitation, chased away any semblance of concentration she might have mustered.

Sighing, she rose and set the folder down on the coffee table. She paused in the doorway, listening for any sound from Jamie; hearing nothing, she closed the door and turned to face her older brother. "How are you doing?"

He didn't turn away from the window. "Lousy."

Well, that was something. At least he wasn't even trying to lie to her.

Erin returned to the couch and pulled a blanket over her knees. She wasn't cold, exactly, but she found the weight of it comforting. "Danny, what you said in the hospital… what happened, in Iraq?"

She was taking a chance even asking; there was no guarantee that he wouldn't shut her out entirely. Danny didn't do feelings, in general, and the post-Iraq version of her brother avoided them even more. Any other day, he probably would have changed the subject, or ignored her entirely. But after the night before, his guard was down.

"We were on patrol; walked right into an ambush. Two of the men in my unit were killed instantly; they took five of us prisoner."

Erin's breath caught; Danny turned at her gasp, his expression guarded. She knew that, in that instant, he regretted saying anything, but she couldn't let him shut down now. "Linda never said—"

"They never called her. Almost as soon as they grabbed us, our guys were planning to come in after us." Danny looked past here, staring at nothing at all—or maybe at a person, or a scene, that no longer existed except in his nightmares. "We had an intelligence officer with us; they couldn't afford to have him in custody for long. They didn't want to notify our families when there was a chance we could be safe, or dead, within a couple of days."

She knew her brother had seen things she couldn't—and didn't want to—imagine during the war, and had no doubt that he'd lost people he cared about. But never had it occurred to her that he'd been a prisoner, and the thought of all that must have gone along with that made her stomach twist. "What happened to you?"

"They… interrogated us. I don't think I slept, except for passing out, the whole time." Danny turned back to the window and dropped his head, his eyes no doubt going to the bottle in his hand.

Interrogation: the politically correct term for torture. Feeling nauseous, Erin crossed the room slowly, one arm curled around her stomach. Danny jerked away from the hand she rested against his back, almost dropping the bottle. "Danny?"

"What do you want from me, Erin?" He spun away from the window, forcing her to stumble backward. "You want to know why I drink so much, or why you never see me without a shirt on anymore? I need to spell it out for you?"

"No." She rose onto her toes, fighting back the tremors that seized her whenever she got a little too close to anyone anymore, and only got worse in the face of his anger. Erin slid her arms around his shoulders and Danny returned the embrace stiffly, not an enthusiastic hug by any means, but he wasn't shoving her away from him either. It was a start.

The door opened and Erin turned, Danny's arm still around her waist, to see Jamie in the doorway. His face was expressionless under the bruising as he raised his cell phone. "I just got a call. Martinez's wife just went into labor a month early; he's desperate for somebody to cover." His eyes went to the bottle, still clutched in Danny's left hand and then past him to the window, the curtains intentionally wide open to the street, revealing all to whoever might be watching. "You two be okay if I go in?"

"We'll be fine." Erin spoke for Danny, not quite sure that he was able to speak for himself.

"I can—"

Danny did speak, then, his voice not as defensive as it might have been a day ago. "I got it."

Jamie didn't argue, though his gaze lingered on Erin a few seconds before he withdrew from the room. A few minutes later she heard the engine of Joe's old car, and together they watched Jamie drive away.


	20. Chapter 20

**allison **- Danny opens up to Erin because (1) she asks, where Linda doesn't. She lives with Danny; she knows things happened to him, and she knows he's not willing to talk about them. (2) Danny doesn't feel the need to protect his sister from his demons the way he does his wife and children. (3) Erin's pretty damaged at this point too, and he feels both a kinship, and a need to show her she's not alone. At least, these are the reasons I had him talking to Erin so much in this, rather than to Linda.

**allie** - Ask and ye shall receive; a resolution (of sorts) to Erin's storyline. As for Danny getting help, and the problems between him and Jamie, well... not going to comment on that at this point.

**A/N: **Please to remember, if you kill me, I can't update. *evil grin*

**-20-**

Danny tossed the empty bottle in the trash and lingered in front of the refrigerator for a few seconds before turning away and getting himself a glass of water instead. They'd made their point. He left the kitchen quickly, water in hand, before temptation could get the better of him even with Erin in the next room. He'd done enough damage already.

"Don't take this the wrong way." Erin appeared in the hallway, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. "But I'm getting pretty scared."

"I know." He reached out to her, waiting until she took the initiative and drew closer. "Not gonna let him near you again, you hear me?"

"You can't promise that."

"Then I can promise you that if he does, he's gone right through me to do it. That better?"

"No." The protest was muffled against his chest. "Don't say things like that."

He let it go; she didn't need the reminder of Detective Lewis lying dead on her living room floor. But that didn't change the truth, that the only way this son of a bitch was getting anywhere near Erin again was if Danny was already dead.

Erin shivered in his arms, and Danny held her tighter. "How you doing?" he asked softly. She was the one suffering, the one who'd just been through something that might have made his brief stint as a POW look like a walk in the park.

She didn't answer right away, instead just standing quietly, breathing deeply. He didn't push; she'd talk when, and if, she was ready. She'd been good about giving him space—maybe too good. The least he could do was return the favor.

After a few minutes of silence Erin withdrew. She paced away, and her back was toward him as she answered. "I'm hanging in there. It's hard to sleep, and sometimes all I want is to be alone but as soon as I am, I want to be around people again."

"It'll pass. Mostly." He shrugged, even though she still wasn't looking at him. He was probably going to regret bringing this up, but… "Have you thought about talking to somebody, maybe? There are support groups. There's a couple we recommend, and a couple people I could ask at work." Everyone knew, by now, what had happened to his sister.

"Have you?" He flinched at the question, and Erin looked back down as quickly as she'd raised her eyes. "I don't mean it like that. I mean… the idea scares me, sitting in a room with a bunch of strangers, having to tell them how I'm feeling. I've thought about it, but… I don't think I'm ready for that yet."

His father had been trying for years to get him to see a doctor at the VA, but Danny wasn't prepared to lie down on some shrink's couch and talk about his feelings. AA was almost less daunting; it meant surrounding himself with people who were just as screwed up as he was.

It also meant saying three words he wasn't ready to say, and he pushed that thought out of his mind.

"Nobody's gonna rush you, Erin. Take it at your own pace, okay?" He crossed the room to kneel in front of her, and swept a hand over her hair, pushing it back out of her face so he could meet her eyes. "But you don't want to end up like me, okay?"

"You don't like yourself much, do you, Danny?"

"I almost broke my knuckles on my baby brother's face last night; what's not to like?"

She didn't argue, or deny; there was nothing _to_ deny. "Why won't you get help?"

Danny weighed his response carefully. Telling he didn't think he could put into words the images—the feelings, the pain—that haunted his memory wouldn't help her understand, even though it was the truth. And there wasn't much point in saying he couldn't stand to think about it, when they all knew that even the booze didn't provide enough of an escape. So he said simply, "I don't think I'm gonna have much choice before too long. Not if I don't want to lose my boys." He hoped the way his voice cracked was all in his head.

"Good." Erin leaned forward, for what purpose he never learned because at a sound from somewhere in the house, she froze. Danny pressed a finger to her lips as she opened her mouth, and shook his head. Gesturing her toward the closet, he pulled his grandfather's revolver, retrieved from the safe upstairs, from his waistband and handed it to her.

One thing about growing up in a police family—Erin knew how to protect herself. She hadn't had a gun Sunday night, and that wasn't a mistake Danny was willing to make again. He didn't really want his sister having to live with the memory of killing a man, even the one who'd raped her. But he'd much rather she be alive to live with the guilt.

She took it without question, seemingly unsurprised, and he drew his own weapon. "If it's me, or dad or Jamie or Grandpa, we'll talk to you. If that door opens without anybody saying a word, shoot first and ask questions later. You hear me?"

Erin nodded vigorously, and her hands didn't shake as she got to her feet, retreating to the closet in the corner. Danny stayed where he was, glad that Jamie had closed the door when he left, until she was as safe as she was going to get. Then he reached for his phone, keeping his weapon trained on the door as he hit the speed dial for his father.

"Yeah, he's here," he said when his dad answered. He kept his voice low, trying to listen for any further movement.

"On our way."

He dropped his phone back into his pocket and headed for the door. Keeping himself out of the line of fire, he opened it slowly, listening and watching for any movement at all. When nothing stirred, he slipped out, closing it behind him.

He hoped, if it came down to it, Erin would be able to pull the trigger.

Danny kept his back to the wall as he moved through the first floor, clearing one room at a time. In that moment, he'd have given anything for a partner, someone to make sure this bastard wasn't moving along behind him, waiting for the right moment to strike. Every few seconds he looked back, checking, but there was nothing.

Just when he'd started to wonder if he and Erin were both imagining things, a low, slow creak drew his attention back toward the front of the house. He knew that sound; the son of a bitch was upstairs, coming down.

Danny stole back down the corridor, his steps light and slow, weapon raised. The entire house was silent; Danny swore he could hear his own heartbeat.

The guy knew what he was doing, which explained the surveillance-quality photos he'd taken of Erin as well as the fact that he'd gotten into her house unnoticed by the security detail and been able to get the drop on Lewis. Danny mentally kicked himself for not checking into who, of the courthouse employees, had police or military training. They might have been able to nail this guy without ever letting him get close to Erin again.

Then the son of a bitch made his move. He jerked around the far corner so quickly Danny couldn't get a look at him, snapping off a couple of shots in rapid succession. The first bullet was high, nicking the woodwork behind and above Danny, off by only a few inches. Danny hit his knees, firing back, as Erin's attacker's second shot hit its mark and kept going. The force as it tore through his right shoulder slammed Danny back into the wall and he tried to stifle the cry of pain with clenched teeth, knowing Erin wouldn't stay put if she knew he'd been hurt.

Danny scrambled backward, diving through the kitchen doorway; there was nothing to hide behind.

The killer had abandoned any pretense of silence, though he wasn't rushing headlong through the house, either. Danny heard his footsteps advance slowly as he passed through the kitchen, blood dripping down his arm. He held the gun in only his left hand. The right was useless. Teeth gritted against the pain, he forced himself to breathe through it.

It'd been a long time since he'd taken a bullet. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but it wasn't life-threatening—except that his aim and control weren't nearly as good shooting one-handed. He could do it, but he'd have much preferred to be facing down some wild-eyed junkie rather than a fully trained man who knew his way around a firearm.

"I should've killed you when I had the chance."

Danny froze when he realized the man's voice had come from behind him. He'd circled back around, passing dangerously close to Erin's hiding place.

Gun still in hand, Danny raised his good arm slowly; his right hung limply by his side. He could have lifted it, but there was no reason to put himself through that kind of pain when the gunman had to know it posed him no threat.

"You know the cops are on their way." He started to turn, preparing to dive at the slightest sound, hoping for Erin's sake that he'd be fast enough.

"But they won't be here soon enough to save you."

The gunshot was the loudest sound he'd ever heard in his life.


	21. Chapter 21

**allison **- No problem! Don't know if you'll get to read this before your vacation, but enjoy!

**shaz** - I think we think alike! Scary thought!

**A/N: **Fair warning, the story slows down from here. I felt so bad leaving you all hanging like that, I couldn't make you wait until tomorrow for the update. Don't get used to this, though.

**-21-**

Jamie stood alongside the door, body angled so he could see his father, positioned by the office window. He turned the key slowly, and turned the knob even more slowly, ready to move on his dad's signal. His father's security detail dashed from their cars across the lawn, heading for the back door. His pulse pounded behind his eyes, and he tried to breathe, tried to tell himself that this was no different than any other call he'd taken since joining up.

But his sister and brother were inside, and he was going in alongside his dad, despite the protests of Detective Baker and her colleagues. And they had no idea what they were going to find.

The gunshot was almost deafening, and Jamie flung the door open as his father raced toward him. "Dining room," he said quickly, and his father nodded tersely. Wood splintered as the detectives kicked in the kitchen door, and Jamie moved ahead as quickly as he could without risking walking into a stray bullet.

Someone—Baker, he thought—shouted, "Clear" from the back of the house, and Jamie broke into a run as a male voice carried over the radio, calling for an ambulance. He froze, just steps ahead of his father, in the middle of the study floor.

Erin stood a couple of feet in front of him, arms extended and a gun still in her hands. She stood stock still; from behind, Jamie couldn't tell if she was hurt, or if she even knew where she was.

A few feet past her, sprawled in the wide doorway, lay a man in all black. He didn't move, and a detective Jamie barely recognized, stood slowly and shook his head. Past him lay Danny, face down, a dark stain already spreading across the back of his gray shirt.

Baker dropped to her knees next to him, pressing her palms over the wound, and that was enough to kick both Jamie and his father into motion. By unspoken agreement, Jamie left Erin to their father and ran back through the house for the kitchen and the fully stocked first aid kit they always kept handy.

Baker had already torn his brother's shirt open when he returned, and Jamie passed a pair of scissors to one of the other detectives, who set to work on removing the torn and bloody material from his shoulder. His brother's blood pulsed from both wounds, seeping through Baker's fingers as Jamie fumbled with a roll of gauze. He got a glimpse of scars, white with age except where the blood had already spread, criss-crossing Danny's back, and almost dropped the roll altogether.

"Move over, Reagan." The order was gentle but firm, as another member of his father's detail all but shoved Jamie out of the way, easily cutting off a length of gauze for Baker to press against the wound. Jamie backed away, unable to do anything but watch them try to save his brother's life.

#

Frank moved to his daughter's side, speaking softly, reassuring Erin that she was safe, not wanting to startle her. He reached slowly for her hand and gently pushed her arm down, not trying to take the gun away until it was aimed harmlessly at the floor.

"Danny—"

He pulled Erin into a hug, turning her away from her older brother's bloody body. He met Jamie's eyes as Parker guided him out of the way, taking over as Jamie struggled to hold it together. His youngest gave him a helpless look, and Frank knew, at that moment, that Jamie was terrified he was about to watch his brother die.

He gestured him over as the first whisper of an ambulance siren reached their ears, the wail growing closer to deafening with every passing second. Jamie's gaze lingered on Danny, Baker doing her level best to stem the flow of blood, even as he stepped around them and joined Frank and Erin.

Then the ambulance crew was there, and Frank guided both his children back, out of the way while still keeping them as close as possible to Danny. He didn't miss how Baker slipped away immediately to wash Danny's blood from her hands before she came over to speak with him. "Shoulder wound was through-and-through; the shot to the back is worse. He's alive; that's what matters."

He appreciated her candor, and the sentiment she tried to convey, though neither her voice nor her eyes carried the same optimism as her words. A few feet away, the bandages the paramedics placed turned red nearly as quickly as they could lay them across Danny's wounds, and Frank finally had to tear his eyes away.

"Sir, Detectives Parker and Cole will remain here, so we can take you to the hospital. Of course, they'll need to speak with Erin at some point, but it can wait until we know more."

Frank didn't argue that he was perfectly capable of driving himself to the hospital; he merely nodded his agreement, and looped his arm around Erin's waist as Baker stepped aside to allow them to precede her to the van waiting outside. "Jamie, go with your brother."

The last words his eldest and youngest exchanged had been harsh, and if the worst happened—if God forbid it, Danny died—he wanted to give Jamie the chance to be there with him. As much as it pained him not to take that ambulance ride as his firstborn fought for his life, Frank knew that Jamie needed it much more than he did.

Baker opened the car door for them, and Frank climbed into the second seat beside Erin, who still clutched at his hand as if her life depended on it. As his aide shut it behind them and took the front passenger seat, he barely heard his daughter's voice. "Is he gonna be okay?"

The memory of blood running over Baker's hands, soaking into the carpet beneath his son's body, stole Frank's breath away and for a moment he couldn't speak. He tried; he opened his mouth to reply, but then he saw Jamie climbing into the back of the ambulance behind his brother's still, almost lifeless body, and Frank couldn't find the words to reassure her.

In the end, the answer came from Baker, more forthright than he could have managed. "Danny's strong. He's lost a lot of blood, but I've seen cops come back from worse."

Erin nodded, and her grip on Frank's hand didn't loosen, even as Baker twisted in her seat. "Sir, if you'd like, I can call Danny's wife and let her know what's happened."

For a moment, he contemplated taking her up on the offer, but in the end he had to shake his head. "No. I'll do it." Just as soon as they got to the hospital and he knew his son was still alive. "I'd appreciate if you'd send a car to pick her up; she shouldn't be driving once she hears."

"I'll call now." Baker turned back to the front, cell phone already to her ear.

#

"They took him right into surgery," Jamie said as soon as Erin and her father walked into the emergency room. He dragged a hand through his hair, his face ashen. "His heart stopped in the ambulance."

Erin felt her knees buckle; if not for her iron grip on her father's hand, she'd probably have fallen. Her dad's face drained of all color and her stomach lurched. She clapped a hand over her mouth and shoved by Jamie, barely making it to the restroom before she threw up, mostly coffee and bile. She'd barely eaten in days.

Tears streamed down her face as Jamie knelt in front of her, offering a half-empty bottle of water. "This Danny? Or shooting that guy?"

She dragged an arm across her eyes, drying tears on her sleeve, and rinsed her mouth a couple of times, unable to chase away the taste that threatened to make her sick again. Sagging against Jamie's shoulder, she shook her head.

That guy—the man who'd raped her, and shot her brother twice—was Mitchell Sloane, an associate just out of law school. He was a Navy SEAL, decorated, if she remembered correctly. He'd been a nice guy, never creepy—walked her out of the building once or twice when she was stuck there late. She never in a million years would have thought it was him. And she'd shot him. Killed him.

"I didn't think he'd die," she whispered. "I thought it'd stop him from shooting Danny." But she hadn't been fast enough, and Danny could die anyway, and she'd killed a man.

"Hey." Jamie's arms circled her back, holding her tightly against him as he started to shake. "The first time I killed somebody, I wasn't trying to," he said softly. "I just did what I was taught, same as you." Funny, but she didn't remember her dad ever telling her how to kill a person. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"What's going to happen?"

"Don't worry about that right now." Jamie pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Let dad and me deal with the police, okay? You're not in any trouble."

"I killed someone." Her voice didn't sound quite right to her own ears.

"You probably saved Danny's life, Erin. If you hadn't shot him, he'd have shot Danny again—or, at least, it would have taken longer for us to start trying to save him. You did what you needed to do, okay?" Jamie started to stand, drawing her up with him. "Danny survived to make it to the hospital. That's all I want you to think about right now, okay?"

#

The boys had just fallen asleep when Linda's cell phone rang. She fumbled for it in her pocket, trying to silence it before the noise woke her sons, and froze when she saw that the incoming call was from Frank.

Fifteen years of marriage to his son, and Frank called her so rarely that her heart all but stopped anytime she saw his name. The last time, Erin had been raped; before that, Joe was dead, and going back farther, Danny had taken a bullet to the leg. Linda willed her voice not to shake as she raised her cell to her ear. "Frank?"

"Linda..." The tone of his voice, the hesitation after he said her name, all sent her heart into her stomach. "Linda, Danny's been shot. A car is on the way to pick you up and bring you to the hospital; can your mother watch the boys for you?"

The question barely registered; Linda could barely breathe. "What—is he—" She tried to cling to the fact that they were at the hospital; it meant that her husband was still alive. The car, the call—Danny was hurt, but he was alive.

"He's in surgery. Hopefully, by the time you get here, we'll know more."

It wasn't all he knew, but it was all he wanted to tell her over the phone. Linda pressed her hand flat against the wall and dropped her eyes to the floor, fighting to breathe normally. "Just tell me, Frank. Please."

Frank's response was a long time coming. "He's in bad shape, Linda. We don't know…" She heard his heavy sigh through the phone. "The car will be there soon."

She couldn't thank him; even if she'd wanted to, she couldn't find her voice. As she hung up, dropping her phone as she tried to shove it back into her pocket, she turned to see her mother standing on the steps watching her, worry written all over her face.

Her mother didn't like Danny, had never liked Danny and probably never would, but she respected that Linda loved him—and knew he loved her. "What's happened?"

The concern, the simple question, and the tiny semblance of control Linda had managed through the call from Frank snapped. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision; she couldn't find her phone, couldn't speak to her mom, couldn't even organize her thoughts enough to pray for her husband's life.


	22. Chapter 22

**allison **- Hope you enjoy your vacation; glad you got to read the last update before you went. There are PLENTY more stories where this one came from, I promise.

**allie** - Glad you liked that scene. I really love the sibling relationships on this show, and I realized I've tended to focus on Danny with Erin and Danny with Jamie, but there has to be some form of connection between Erin and Jamie as well (though we don't see much of it on the show, either). And I thought it nice for Jamie to have an area that he could counsel his older sister in, rather than it just being the other way around.

**A/N: **Enjoy! I will try to update again over the weekend, but it's probably not going to happen until Monday. Fair warning!

**-22-**

Linda climbed out of the unmarked car just as an identical sedan, apparently Henry's escort, pulled away from the emergency room entrance. Detective Baker was waiting out front, and offered no information about Danny's condition as she wordlessly showed them to the waiting area. Erin looked terribly small, curled into Jamie's side, and Frank had his back to them all as they walked up.

"How is he?"

"Still in surgery," Jamie replied softly. "They haven't told us anything yet."

Frank turned, finally, at the sound of their voices; he looked like he'd aged ten years since she'd seen him last. Linda crossed the floor to him, slowly, and let him draw her into a hug. Still in his arms, she glanced sideways at Jamie and Erin. "What happened?"

Her sister-in-law answered, her voice hollow. "He was shot in the shoulder and the back. Linda, I'm sor—"

"Don't." Linda shook her head. "Please, don't."

She didn't have a chance to say more; the same doctor who'd attended to Frank the day he was shot interrupted. "I assume you're all here for Daniel Reagan."

"Doctor Keller." Frank nodded, releasing Linda, and together they moved closer to her. "How is my son?"

"He's alive." It was hardly the ringing endorsement Linda was hoping for, and she leaned heavily into Frank as Henry came to stand beside them. "It'll be touch and go for a while. The bullet went right through his shoulder—there's muscle and tissue damage, and it scraped the bone, but it should heal just about to a hundred percent. The bullet to his back was the bigger concern."

"And?" Henry pressed.

"Well, there was no major organ damage, so that's a positive. The bullet was a little closer to his spine than I'd have liked, but I believe we got it out without any further damage." Linda's breath caught at her next words, and she clutched at Frank's hand. He returned the gesture just as strongly. "There's a possibility of temporary paraplegia, but it should dissipate as the swelling goes down." She shoved her hands into her pockets and looked over each of them in turn. "I don't want you to take this as me telling you that he's out of danger; he isn't. He lost a lot of blood, and his heart stopped twice—once in the ambulance, and once in surgery. It's very much touch-and-go; if he makes it through the next twenty-four hours, he has a good chance of survival but I'm not promising anything."

"Can we see him?" Linda asked.

"In a few minutes, as long as you keep it brief. I'm transferring him up to ICU; he's heavily sedated, and there'll be a lot of equipment in there. You name it; he's hooked up to it." She looked over each of them in turn. "I want to make sure you're all prepared for that. I can show you up there now, and then a nurse will take you in when he's settled. You'll be a little more comfortable in the waiting area up there."

Keller turned away, starting toward the elevator, but abruptly stopped and looked back. "In the room, no cell phones, and certainly no firearms." The last she directed at Henry, though her gaze swept over Frank and Jamie as well.

She had a good memory. Linda didn't miss the glance Henry exchanged with Frank as the Reagan clan silently fell into step behind the doctor.

Luckily, it took the duty nurse only a few minutes to come to show them into Danny's room; any longer and Linda would have worn a hole through the carpet for all her pacing. When the nurse, an older but warm woman whose ID identified her as Sharon, told them that only one visitor could go in at a time, Linda looked first to Frank, and then to a still-distressed Erin. Both of them shook their heads, and Jamie gestured for her to go. "We'll wait."

Shaking a little with fear of what waited for her down the sterile hallway, Linda followed Sharon in silence. The nurse stopped at the last door and held it open, motioning Linda to enter.

She stopped so quickly in the doorway that the door almost hit her when Sharon released it; she almost turned around.

She'd seen Danny in a hospital bed before, but never like this. Before, it was surface injuries, minor wounds, the occasional broken bone. The bullet to the leg had been the worst, and he'd been awake and mostly coherent—only mostly because of the morphine drip they'd put him on—by the time she saw him.

Now, though, her husband lay on his stomach, still, in a hospital bed that seemed to dwarf him. The only sign of life came from a little green line on a heart monitor, continuously, slowly, moving its way across the screen. His head was turned toward her, and she could see a mask covering his nose and mouth. Tubes ran from IV bags to his right hand and arm.

A white bandage peeked out from under the johnny he wore, the dressings trailing down his back to disappear beneath the sheet. Old scars she knew well, despite Danny's efforts to keep them from her eyes, trailed across the bit of skin bared by the opening in his shirt.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she listened to the steady, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor. The memory of him just the previous evening—not even twenty-four hours ago—so full of anger intruded on her thoughts. She vividly recalled walking away from him, but she couldn't for the life of her remember if she'd told him she loved him.

Her hand flew to her mouth and she gasped, allowing the tears to fall now that she was hidden behind closed doors, away from the family that had to be just as afraid as she was, just as terrified of losing another loved one.

Somehow, she found the courage to stand beside him, to run her fingertips across his exposed left arm. "I love you so much, Danny Reagan. You hear me?" God, had she really threatened to leave him? "I need you, Danny." Her voice broke. "I need you so much. The boys—you have to know that, Danny. We need you to beat this." She leaned down to kiss his cheek and then dropped into the chair beside him, face buried in one hand, while the other clung to his.

#

When Linda came out, her eyes red and face streaked with tears, Frank tried to send Erin in to see Danny. His daughter flatly refused, and a look from Jamie plainly told him not to push. He wondered what she'd said to him in the bathroom, and made a mental note to take Jamie aside later and find out. He knew the guilt of taking a life had to be killing her, but he couldn't fathom why she wouldn't want to see Danny.

Frank had seen more than his share of friends and family in hospital beds over the years, many in just as rough shape as his son was. But walking through the doorway to see him, all but lifeless in that bed, felt like a physical blow to his chest.

His oldest son, his firstborn, might have died tonight. He'd come dangerously close to burying a second child who didn't deserve to die too young.

He still could. It wasn't over.

He tugged a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his eyes as he crossed quickly to Danny's bedside. Laying one hand on his son's uninjured arm, Frank studied the scars visible across the limited expanse of bare skin. A couple of burn marks, and what looked like a slash from a whip of some kind, or maybe a gash from a knife. He had no way of knowing without seeing the rest of his son's back, and he'd never ask. And Danny would never tell him.

As his son fought for his life—and Frank hoped to Heaven that Danny still felt it was worth fighting for—Frank closed his eyes and asked Saint Peter, and anyone else who might be listening, for just a little help.

"I should have been there, Francis."

Frank's eyes snapped open, his spine tightening, at his father's voice. "Pop—"

"He had no backup. He had Erin, with a gun she barely knew how to use."

"She knew how to use it well enough, apparently." Frank rested his hand on Danny's undamaged shoulder. "Jamie and I _were_ his backup. At least, we were meant to be. He looked down at his son, near lifeless in the hospital bed. "We just weren't fast enough. And Danny didn't want you in there either, Pop, if you remember."

His father waved a hand dismissively, the same reaction he'd given when Frank and Danny had put their collective foot down and refused his demand to remain in the house while they put their plan into action. Danny was there to protect Erin, and his attention had to be on keeping her safe—and them both alive. He didn't need to worry about keeping his grandfather safe as well.

Danny hadn't needed to say it; Frank had seen his own concerns reflected in Danny's eyes. Thirty years on the force or not, Frank's father wasn't what he'd once been, and the task of keeping Erin safe had best been left in the more capable hands of his sons.

He squeezed Danny's hand once more and withdrew, motioning his father from the room. "Danny does this every day, and he damn near died today. When was the last time you faced down a madman with a gun, Pop?"

His father didn't have an answer for that.


	23. Chapter 23

**allie** - Thank you!

**-23-**

Jamie had never felt comfortable in hospitals, and the fact that Danny was hooked up to at least a half-dozen machines, helping him breathe and listening to his heart and doing God only knew what else wasn't helping his opinion. The fact that so far they'd kept him alive didn't make him feel as good as he figured it probably should.

It was hard to think of the man lying there in that bed as his obstinate, irritating… over-protective older brother. Sitting outside in the waiting area, not having to see him, made it easier to believe he might be okay. That he had a chance of pulling through this.

And Jamie didn't know what he'd do if Danny didn't.

He rested a hand on Danny's uninjured left side. "For whatever it's worth, Danny, I accept your apology. And I figure I probably owe you one of my own. I… I'm not gonna promise I'll never get pissed at you again if you make it, because we both know I can't keep that up." He gave a bitter laugh, and felt instantly guilty for laughing while his brother was half dead in a hospital bed. "But I can try, to understand. If—if you'll try and help me understand. Can't do it on my own, okay?" He patted Danny a little awkwardly and left, just as he would have if Danny had been awake to hear a word he'd just said.

"Jamie."

His father's voice made him jump, and his hand instantly went for the gun he'd left in the waiting area with Grandpa. As he gave his dad a sheepish smile and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he wondered when reaching for his weapon had become reflex. He wasn't sure he liked it.

"Did Erin talk to you at all, earlier?"

"A little." He glanced past his father to where his sister sat next to Linda, their heads bent together even though neither was talking. He didn't see his grandfather anywhere. "She's pretty shaken up. I told her she wasn't gonna be in any trouble but I don't know if she believed me." He frowned. "Can you, maybe, make sure whoever talks to her isn't gonna give her a hard time?"

The inquiry into his first on-the-job shooting had been brutal, and he'd known what to expect and he wasn't in shock. He didn't want Erin subjected to that.

"I've asked Baker to sit in when they speak to her; she'll handle things." His dad followed Jamie's gaze toward the waiting room for a second or two. "Did she say anything about Danny?"

"I think she thinks she should have been faster. That she should've shot him before he shot Danny."

His father frowned and finally turned his back to the girls once again. "Quite frankly, I'm amazed she was able to pull the trigger at all."

"Yeah, it's a big difference from shooting at a paper target." Jamie shrugged and glanced back toward Danny's room. If Erin wasn't going to go in and sit with him, then Linda or Grandpa should. Danny shouldn't be alone. "She blames herself, y'know? Not just for not being fast enough, but for the fact it happened at all. But I figure once he wakes up, she'll be okay."

"Let's hope so." His dad started walking again suddenly, and Jamie rushed to keep pace with him. "Why don't you three try to get something to eat?" Linda and Erin looked up in unison, their mouths opening in identical protests. Even if Erin couldn't bring herself to face Danny, she still didn't want to leave. Jamie swore he'd never understand women. "Danny won't be awake for hours, and we'll call you the second anything changes. You can bring something back for us." His father gestured between himself and Grandpa, and to Jamie's surprise, Linda was the first to agree.

"I could use some coffee." She stood slowly, and pulled Erin with her, glancing at Jamie's father as she moved. Somehow, he didn't think any of them gave his brother's wife quite enough credit. "We all could, I guess. Sandwiches okay?"

Linda was already towing them out the door before Jamie's grandfather replied, "Sandwiches sound terrific. Make sure mine's got tomato."

#

It was nearly midnight when two plainclothes officers walked into the waiting area, and Erin thought her father was going to blow a gasket. Baker's expression said clearly that she was expecting the same thing. But he just nodded resignedly. Maybe it was the realization that none of them were going to sleep that night anyway—that, or he was just too exhausted to care. She knew she was.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to sit in." When the detectives, neither of whom Erin recognized at all, exchanged a glance, her father sighed. "You won't know I'm there. I'd just like to listen in."

She knew what he was doing, and was grateful for it. He needed to know exactly what had happened to his children, and she was the only one who could tell him. He was trying to keep her from having to go through it all twice.

Finally the shorter of the two, about Danny's height and close to his build, but with a shock of red hair and freckles across his face that spent of a lot of recent time in the sun, nodded. "Of course, sir."

Knowing they'd be visited by the police, the nursing staff had pointed out an empty office they could use. The counters were all piled high with medical charts, but it was private, with a door that closed. Erin took the first chair she came to, and the officers sat opposite her. The ever-present Detective Baker sat down next to her, and her dad took up residence in the corner behind Baker.

"I'm Detective Connolly," the redhead introduced himself, "and this is my partner, Detective Sandoval. What can you tell us about what happened, Ms. Reagan?" Erin glanced quickly at the second man, taking in the thin set of his lips and the way his dark eyes narrowed on her when Connolly called her by name. She couldn't see her father's face and didn't dare turn around, but she really needed to find out if he had a history with this man, Sandoval.

"Danny and I were in my father's office, talking, when we heard something. Danny gave me a gun—"

"Where did the gun come from?" Sandoval interrupted. Damping down on the flare of irritation she was really too tired to conceal completely, Erin frowned at him.

"I think it was my grandfather's." She swallowed and wished she'd brought her coffee or a bottle of water with her. Her mouth was dry, and she had a lot of talking to do. "He had it with him, along with his off-duty weapon. He handed it to me and told me to stay in the closet, and that if he or my dad or Jamie came, they'd tell me they were there. He said if the door opened without anyone talking to me, I should shoot first and ask questions later."

Recognition glimmered in Connolly's eyes, and Erin now wondered if he knew Danny. Saying it out loud, it certainly sounded like something she might expect her older brother to say. Why had they sent people who knew her family to question her? Or was it simply that there was no one in the department who could really be impartial—one way or the other—to the Reagan family anymore? Her dad and Danny both had more than their share of enemies, and she supposed she might have a few too.

"What happened next?"

She shrugged and licked her lips quickly. "I hid in the closet like he told me to, and just listened. For a long time, I didn't hear anything at all, and then there were gunshots."

Erin closed her eyes and wrapped her hands around the edge of the table, trying to breathe through the memories of hiding in pitch darkness while a man who wanted nothing more than to find her and probably kill her, shot up her childhood home. Only twice in her life had she been more terrified.

A hand wrapped loosely around her wrist, pulling her back into the present. Erin's eyes flew open and she found herself staring into Baker's concerned blue eyes. "Are you all right, Ms. Reagan?"

"I'm fine. Sorry." Her cheeks warmed, and she forced herself to look back to Connolly and Sandoval. They looked back at her, impassive and seemingly unmoved by her distress. "Sorry. Um, I knew someone had been hurt, and it sounded like it was Danny. So I came out, and waited by the door. I heard someone moving, and I saw him walk by the office."

"Who is him?"

"Mitch—Mitchell Sloane."

"Did you know then who he was?" Sandoval asked, and Erin shook her head.

"No. I just knew that the person who walked by wasn't Danny. He was too tall."

"How did you know Sloane?"

"He was an associate on staff in the office." She looked down, twisting her fingers and toying with the simple silver chain around her wrist. It'd been a gift from John, the only one she still wore. "He was nice. He was friendly, but never too friendly; he never made me uncomfortable."

"You can't blame yourself for not seeing it," Sandoval said, taking Erin by surprise. "Sloane was a Navy SEAL; he saw action in the Middle East in both Iraq and Afghanistan." He shifted his gaze to take in her father. "It explains why he was able to get the jump on Detective Reagan." Her dad didn't reply, and Sandoval looked back to her. "Go on."

"I waited a minute, and then went out after him. He already had his gun on Danny; he'd come up on him from behind. I knew as soon as I saw him who he was." Tears burned her eyes and she went silent, trying to get her breathing under control again. "I knew he was about to pull the trigger; I think I fired at the same time he did."

Out of the corner of her eye, Erin saw Baker nod her agreement. "We only heard one shot; it stands to reason that Sloane's .357 would have drowned out the sound of the .45."

"That's pretty much all I remember. My dad took the gun away from me, but I don't even remember them coming in."

"Where were you trying to hit him?"

Erin blinked. "What?"

Connolly leaned forward, not quite getting into her face, but enough that she knew he was trying to intimidate her. She'd thought that would be Sandoval's gig, but maybe she'd been wrong. So far, he was being nice. "You aren't licensed to carry a firearm; while I'd assume you've had some training, given who your father and brothers are, I'm guessing you're probably not that good with a handgun. But you killed a man with one shot. How?"

Erin shook her head slowly, keeping her eyes on the table so she didn't look over at her dad and give them reason to wonder. "I don't remember. I just pulled the trigger."

"Did you want to kill him?" Connolly pressed, and Erin's hands trembled a little.

"I wanted to save my brother's life."

"He raped you, and you didn't want him dead?"

"I thought he was going to kill Danny. That's the only reason I even came out of the office to begin with. I couldn't—" Erin gave up and finally twisted in her chair to meet her father's carefully blank gaze. "I couldn't sit there and hide in a closet while someone killed Danny."

Neither of the detectives had any response to that.


	24. Chapter 24

**-24-**

Linda hung in the doorway to Danny's room, watching Jamie by his brother's bedside. Shoulders slumped, he hung his head and traced his fingers aimlessly over the sheet. "You gotta wake up, Danny. Because I don't think I can deal with it if you don't."

"He'll wake up." Jamie didn't even stiffen when she spoke, which told her he'd known all along that she was there. She moved to the foot of the bed and laid a hand on her husband's leg; he didn't stir, but she continued to hold out hope that he would soon.

Jamie didn't look at her; she watched as his eyes slid up Danny's body to linger on his shoulder. It was the first bullet he'd taken, the one that had prompted Erin to come out of hiding. "He took two bullets for her tonight. He could've died, and I asked him if he was drunk the night she was attacked. The hell is wrong with me?"

"You watch somebody get drunk every night, you start wondering if he can stay sober at all." It was still hard for her to say, but after the previous night, it was getting a little easier to admit that her husband was an alcoholic. "It's understandable."

He finally turned to look at her. "You didn't." When she raised an eyebrow he added, "Wonder, I mean."

"That's because I know Danny." She shrugged. "Sometimes I think I'm the only one who does. But that's not your fault." It pained her to see her husband, as much as he loved and relied on his family, so intent on going it alone. "He wants it that way, most of the time. I just don't think he realized what a bad idea that is."

Jamie turned back to his older brother, and Linda could have sworn she saw tears shining in his eyes—not that he'd ever let them fall in front of her. Just like his older brother, probably in more ways than either of them realized.

"He tried to apologize to me this morning, and I told him I was done with him."

"I know. I was in the dining room." She'd heard both Danny's halting apology—weak, maybe, from most people's perspectives, but she knew it was a huge step for him—and Jamie's reply. Part of her had wanted to slap him; she couldn't believe he couldn't see how much even those few words cost his brother. But the other part of her knew he was right, and thought that maybe Jamie's words would be the wakeup call Danny needed. That was, of course, if his drunken assault on his brother hadn't been enough of one.

Linda patted Danny's ankle a couple of times and then withdrew, taking the chair on the opposite side of the bed. "And I don't blame you for that, either."

Jamie shook his head slowly, his gaze still locked on Danny's slack face. "I knew this was coming; I knew what could happen. He coulda died, and I just blew him off."

"Listen, Jamie. Nobody knows better than I do how infuriating Danny can be." She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and allowed a small smile to play over her lips. "God knows. But—and I did this long before Joe, before Danny even went overseas—no matter how angry he makes me some days, I try to always make sure I tell him I love him. Because I know there's always a chance that the last thing I say to him could be... the last thing I say to him, you know?" She closed her eyes and tried again to remember if she'd told him that morning how much she loved him.

God, she hoped so.

"I didn't even mean it, not really. I mean…" He shook his head, frustrated, and Linda could relate.

"It's okay to be frustrated, Jamie. It's okay to get angry, especially after what he did the other night." Had it really been less than thirty-six hours since Frank had flown through the kitchen door to haul Danny off a battered and bloody Jamie before he really hurt his younger brother? It never ceased to amaze her how quickly things could change. "And you're right. He needs help. No harm done, Jamie. And maybe you even got through to him." Not that they'd probably know the answer to that for a while.

"I hope you're right."

Linda needed only to glance at her brother-in-law's face to know that nothing she could say would chase away the guilt at how he'd spoken to Danny; it was a lost cause. So she just reached across the bed, fingertips brushing his arm, and nodded. "Me too."

#

Jackie flashed a badge at the nurse behind the station at the entrance to the ICU; that was enough to tell the woman who she was there for and that she already knew where to go.

She hated hospitals. The antiseptic smell, the weirdly muffled sounds, the distress on the face of every person she walked by—all of it combined to make her dread walking through the door, even without considering the reason that brought her there in the first place.

She pushed the door to the waiting room open slowly, and wasn't surprised to see every Reagan family member over the age of eighteen seated inside. Her partner's wife sat on one end of a worn couch, her head on Jamie's shoulder. Erin—God, what that girl had been through the last week—was stretched out on the remaining space, her hair pillowed on Jamie's lap. They were all three asleep.

The Commissioner had laid claim to a chair close by, and had his nose buried in a couple of thick folders; his father had fallen asleep in a chair opposite, but startled awake at her quiet entrance. They both looked over at her in about the same moment.

"Sir." She nodded to her current boss, and flashed a smile toward his predecessor.

"Detective." Reagan's father stood, setting aside his paperwork, and crossed to shake her hand. "It's good of you to come down."

"Of course." She'd debated coming down the second she'd heard, but had figured his family would want time alone with him if he survived the shooting—and, she supposed, even if he didn't. Maybe especially if he didn't.

She'd gotten the call last night, probably before they'd even reached the hospital; news that bad traveled fast through the department. A half a day of knowing her partner had been shot twice, nearly fatally, without seeing him with her own two eyes was all she could abide. "How's he doing?"

"He hasn't regained consciousness," the most senior Reagan replied. "It was a near thing."

"I heard." Jackie licked her lips as her eyes darted toward Erin, and when she spoke again, she dropped her voice. "I heard they sent Jimmy Connolly down. He give her a hard time?"

Connolly was a good detective, one Jackie wouldn't have minded having at her back in a shootout. But he didn't hold with Reagan's tactics in the slightest, thought he was a dirty cop who only managed to hang onto his shield because of his last name. She'd nearly flipped her lid when she found out that he was IA's handpicked choice to question the Commissioner's daughter; whoever had sent him must not have had a healthy sense of self-preservation.

"A bit," he admitted after a few seconds' deliberation. "Nothing she couldn't handle. Ah—he's in the last room on the right, if you'd like to take a few minutes."

Jackie smiled her thanks and then excused herself. She found her partner's room easily and took a breath, hand on the doorknob, steeling herself.

She'd seen a lot in her years on the job, the kinds of things that would give most people nightmares. But for some reason she'd never quite managed to figure out, seeing a good man hooked up to a half-dozen machines just to stay alive affected her more than seeing a killer's bloody, bullet-riddled body—even if she'd had a hand in putting the bullets there.

Reagan didn't look like himself, lying there in that bed, and she wasn't sure if that made it better or worse. The sound of the heart monitor made her skin crawl and she shivered. "You know, Reagan, if you wanted to get me into a hospital room, there're better ways than almost getting yourself killed." He didn't react at all, not that she'd expected him to. It would've been nice, though. "Jesus, this is ridiculous." Standing in a creepy hospital room talking to somebody who couldn't talk back. Give her a bomb threat, any day of the week.

Jackie was standing beside his bed before she even realized she'd started across the floor. The color of his skin wasn't far away from the stark white of his dressings; he was so pale she almost didn't notice the much older scars. Christ. She'd known a long time ago that her partner had more than his fair share of secrets, but she hadn't thought he was hiding this.

No wonder he was the way he was.

Suddenly it felt like she was intruding, sticking her big Italian nose in someplace it really didn't belong. She pressed her palm flat against her partner's uninjured shoulder. "Wake up soon, Reagan. I think they probably need you out there, okay?" Still no response, of course, and Jackie left before she was tempted to talk to herself any more.

#

Danny had been out of surgery for more than twenty four hours when Erin finally forced herself into his room. It was late, well past normal visiting hours—well past midnight; the nursing staff was making an exception, given their father's position, or Danny's condition, or both.

She walked in and very nearly turned around and walked right back out at the sight of him. "God, Danny," she whispered, all but clinging to the doorknob as if it was the only thing keeping her in the room with him. "I'm so sorry."

She half-expected him to tell her to shut the hell up, or ask what she thought she was apologizing for. But her brother remained unnaturally still and silent.

Erin dragged the back of her hand over her mouth and scuffed her way across the floor to the chair positioned close to the foot of Danny's bed. She wondered at what the doctor said, about the swelling near his spine. Would he feel her, if she touched his leg? Would he anyway, even if he wasn't temporarily paralyzed? Did he have any clue that she was there?

"I was there. I—" She shut her eyes tightly, but it only made the memory clearer. Plain as day, she could see Danny, the hole the bullet had left in the shoulder of his shirt, the bloody trail down his back as he slowly lifted his gun hand. She'd known he had to be in pain, had to be terrified, had to know he was about to die. But he'd spoken so calmly; she couldn't imagine being strong enough to do that in his position. "I heard him say he should have killed you."

The tears came then, flooding down her cheeks; she didn't even try to stop them. "I couldn't do it, Danny." She'd had the gun raised, her finger flat curled over the trigger. And then Danny was talking, and turning, and she'd known when she fired that it wasn't going to be enough to save her brother's life. "I thought you were dead, Danny, and I could have saved you."

She couldn't even understand her own words as she sobbed into her hands.

#

Through the cracked open door to Danny's room, Frank listened to Erin's emotional admission with a heavy heart. He wanted more than anything to go to her, to hold her while she cried, and convince her that this wasn't blame she deserved to carry.

But there was a reason she'd held that confession in until she was alone with Danny. There was nothing he could say, no comfort he could offer, even if she'd appreciate the intrusion—which she wouldn't. Only one person could absolve her of her guilt, and he was currently deep in what Frank hoped was a healing slumber.

He pulled the door closed as quietly as he could and left his eldest children alone, together.


	25. Chapter 25

**allie** - Thanks! That was kind of an all-hands-on-deck chapter, wasn't it? And Jackie would no way be kept away from Danny in this condition.**  
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**A/N** - One chapter and the epilogue to go after this one, and then you guys get a shiny new short story to tide you over to my next monstrosity.**  
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**-25-**

Jamie looked up when Doctor Keller walked into the waiting area. She wore the same expression she'd worn around them the entire time his father had been hospitalized, like she was resigned to the fact they weren't going anywhere but still held out hope that they'd realize Danny wasn't waking up anytime soon and just get out from under the nurse's feet.

"I thought I'd let you know that Danny's vitals are improving. Certainly not where I'd like them to be but, all things considered, I think he's doing very well. He'll probably come around within the next twelve to twenty-four hours—though that's really just a guess; it could be longer." Her eyes hardened, and her gaze swept over all of them.

"And once he does, I want you all to go home. He'll be very weak, exhausted and desperately in need of sleep without well-meaning family members keeping him awake. The nurses will be much stricter on the visitors' policy, and I will have you thrown out of here if I think it's necessary, no matter how many of you are armed."

His brother's partner, this being her first introduction to the surgeon who'd saved Danny's life, hung in the corner with her eyes on the floor and a smirk desperately fighting its way to the surface. She finally had to cover her mouth with her hand and tried to hide a chuckle with a cough, though Keller saw through it.

She sighed tiredly and turned her body to face Jackie fully. "I'm sorry; I don't believe we've been introduced."

Jackie stepped forward to shake her hand, her jacket falling open to reveal the Sig Sauer on her hip. "Jackie Curatola; Danny's my partner. I'm sorry; it's just—he'd get a kick, listening to you talk to them like that. You should try it in his room. He might wake up just to warn you it's not gonna work."

Jamie hid a smirk of his own; she knew his brother well. Danny was always impressed to hear someone make an attempt at putting their father in his place.

It didn't often work, but he loved to see them try.

"You can consider yourself included, Detective Curatola."

She laughed outright, a short, sharp bark of laughter as she raised her hands defensively. "I gotta get to work anyway." She looked past Keller to meet Jamie's gaze, asking him to call her if anything changed. And then she was gone, leaving Keller to resume threatening them.

"I mean it. With luck, he won't be able to stay awake even if he tries, but I don't want him even trying. I'd hope by now that you're all confident we will take good care of him here, and I have no problem with you dropping by. But—"

"Two years ago my son Joe was shot and killed in the line of duty, Doctor Keller." Their father pushed up out of his chair, slowly, his words silencing her completely. "He died almost instantly, at the scene, and none of us were there with him. There was no way we could have been." Jamie dropped his eyes to the floor as Linda grabbed his hand, hanging on for dear life. "I appreciate you telling us that my son is doing better, and that his chances of surviving have improved. But we know from very difficult experience that there are no guarantees. So if it's all the same to you, I plan to stay right here until I know for certain that my son is out of danger."

Jamie bit his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, and even that wasn't quite enough to chase away the tears that threatened.

Keller worked her jaw, but all it took was a glimpse of her eyes to know that she wasn't going to argue with him. How could she send away a man who'd just admitted he was afraid another son would die alone?

"The second a nurse tells one of you to leave, you do it. No arguing." She pressed her lips together, holding his dad's gaze steadily. "Do we have a deal?"

"We do."

She nodded slightly and backed away toward the door. "I'll tell the nurses you'll be staying. But you really should try to get some rest yourselves." She focused on Linda. "He'll be in the hospital a few days even once he wakes up, and then he'll need a lot of care at home. It'll be easier on everyone if you're well-rested."

Jamie wondered if there was a point in mentioning that none of them would be able to sleep well until Danny had woken up. Somehow, he doubted it.

#

Danny had been in the hospital just under forty-eight hours when he finally regained consciousness. Frank didn't even notice, at first; he happened to glance up from the incident reports Baker had brought by and found himself looking into his son's hazy brown eyes.

He hadn't realized until the moment his son woke up just how terrified he'd been that he wouldn't. For a moment he couldn't even speak as he reached for Danny's hand. "Stay still, Danny. I'll get a nurse."

He found Sharon, the same nurse who'd been on duty the night Danny was moved into ICU, a couple of doors down. She grabbed a cup of ice chips for him and sent another nurse to call Doctor Keller before following Frank back to Danny's bedside.

His son was struggling to breathe around the tube in his throat, and Sharon moved immediately to help him settle down. "The doctor will be here in a minute or two, Detective; just try to breathe normally, all right? You gave your family quite a scare."

"Yes, you did."

"Detective Reagan." Keller breezed into the room, her voice carrying just a hint of pleasure that her patient had woken up earlier than she'd expected. "Glad to see you back with us. Before we take that tube out, Danny, we need to get you onto your back. Do you remember what happened?" Danny hesitated a little before shaking his head slowly, and Frank looked away.

Keller kept talking, her words rapid but not so much that Danny couldn't follow along even in his current, drugged state. It kept his focus on her, rather than on panic at not being able to breathe normally. "That's quite all right, nothing to worry about; it'll probably come back to you pretty quickly. You were shot in the back, and I put quite a lot of needlework into pulling you back together, so I'd like to do this as carefully as possible. First, though…"

She moved to the foot of his bed and untucked the sheet covering his feet. "Nod if you can feel this." She poked and prodded at the soles of his feet, but Danny never nodded. Frank could see the fear growing in his eyes and it was all he could do to hold back and let Keller explain. "The bullet was close to your spine, Danny, and there's some swelling putting pressure on it. You'll regain feeling in and the use of your legs once the swelling goes down; this is only temporary. Nod if you're following me." Danny's nod was a long time in coming, but it was there. The panic in his eyes retreated, a little.

"Sharon." Keller jerked her head toward the opposite side of Danny's bed, and then positioned herself by his shoulder. Frank stepped back, doing his best to stay out of their way. "All right, Danny, just try to work with us here. We're going to roll you over onto your back, and it's probably going to hurt. If it does, we'll give you a little more of that morphine to get you through, but I want you pretty coherent for a few minutes, okay?"

Danny gave another shallow nod, no doubt trying to mentally prepare himself for the pain that must have lanced through his back as they rolled him over as slowly as humanly possible. Even the mask over his nose and mouth couldn't stifle the gasp of pain, and Frank reached for a tissue to dab away the tears that filled Danny's eyes.

The nurses set to moving around the various tubes and wires still connected to various parts of his son's body, and finally Keller was ready to do away with the mask. "This is going to be uncomfortable, Danny, and your throat will be pretty raw afterward, but the ice will help, okay? Done this before?" Danny nodded once, sharply. "All right, on three, one hard breath, okay?"

The tube came out easily, and Frank finally found something to do, feeding Danny a couple of ice chips until he turned his head away. "Erin?" The single word came out as a raspy whisper, and Keller rolled her eyes.

"Your sister's fine, Danny." Frank rested a hand on Danny's uninjured shoulder and pressed him back into the blankets. "You need to worry about yourself right now."

"Your father is right." Keller sat on the edge of the bed, Danny's chart in one hand. "What do you remember about what happened to you?"

"Heard something," Danny rasped, and Frank offered him the cup of ice. He swallowed a few more, sucking silently until they melted. "He got in upstairs, somehow." The look he shot Frank was some combination of apology and confusion—as if it was somehow Danny's fault that the house he no longer lived in wasn't as secure as any of them had believed. "Came down the stairs and we shot up the hallway."

Frank had noticed, briefly, the damage done to the walls but at the time had been far more concerned with the damage done to his son. Danny's eyes fluttered closed and he lifted his left hand most of the way across his body. "Took one in the shoulder. Through and through, I think." He cracked one eye and glanced at Keller for confirmation. She nodded.

"Thought he chased me to the kitchen, so I went for…" Danny shook his head as his eyes tried to close; he was clearly exhausted, and Frank wanted to interrupt, to say that this could all wait. But Keller would have stopped the conversation if she thought he wasn't up to it, or that it didn't need to happen. "Went into the dining room." Danny dropped his head back, eyes still closed. "But he doubled back, came up behind—" Danny broke off, and this time Frank knew it wasn't exhaustion.

All the training, and the shootouts, and the close calls that went with ten, fifteen, twenty years on the force couldn't prepare a man for seconds spent facing almost certain death. Danny had believed, known without question, that he was about to die, and knowing he'd survived was doing little to chase away the memory of that terror.

Frank reached out to his son, the touch of his fingers grounding Danny in the present. His eldest's eyes snapped open and in that moment Frank saw fear that Danny would never allow anyone else to see.

"I never saw him. Heard the gun fire, though. I… remember lying there, on the floor, wondering why I wasn't dead yet."

"That would be because Erin shot and killed him just as he shot you."

Danny's eyes went wide and he jerked around toward Frank, his face twisting in pain at the sudden movement. Air hissed through his clenched teeth and his breathing turned labored. Keller adjusted the morphine drip, and the effect was almost instantaneous. Danny sagged back into the pillows, still breathing shallowly, but his expression relaxed considerably. His voice shook when he spoke. "She okay?"

"She will be, now that you're doing better."

Keller took over again. "You're right about the bullet you took to your shoulder, but as I said, we had to dig the other out of your back; that's going to take longer to heal, and you'll have a couple of new scars. We'll send you home with something to at least try to minimize that."

"Like I'd notice," he muttered, and Frank raised an eyebrow at the sure sign Danny wasn't in full command of his faculties.

"Fair enough. Danny, we're going to let you get some sleep, okay? Before we go, though, how much pain are you in, on a scale of one to ten?"

"Was eleven a few minutes ago," he mumbled.

"And now?"

"Seven?" The increase in the painkillers and the physical exhaustion were combining to send Danny back under. Keller adjusted the morphine drip again, and then adjusted the pillows behind Danny.

"Rest, son." It was less than a minute before Danny's hand went slack in his, and Frank cast a long glance over his shoulder at his son as he left, a half-step behind Keller.

She closed the door tightly and turned to face him. "He'll be out for several hours now, and I do not want anyone in there taking a chance of waking him up." Frank didn't respond immediately, and she placed a hand on his arm. "I know that isn't the son you remember or want to see right now, but he's doing remarkably well. I still have to tell you that anything can happen—and that's true—but he has a very good chance of making a full recovery."

"Doctor Keller, my son is alive, breathing, and talking. At the moment, I couldn't ask for anything more than that."


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N** - This is the last proper chapter; I'll post the short little epilogue in a couple of days, and then y'all should look for Missing. It'll be under the crossovers, as it's between NCIS and Blue Bloods.**  
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**-26-**

"Hey."

Erin jumped at the sound of her brother's voice. She knew he'd come around, first with her father, and then Jamie and Linda had both exchanged a few words with him. But she hadn't expected him to be awake. "Kinda figured you were avoiding me." Her throat tightened; she couldn't find the words to answer, because it was the truth, and he deserved better than that. "Not nice to avoid a guy who can't get up and track you down, sis."

Danny held a hand out to her—his right, though his face betrayed no hint of pain as he moved his injured shoulder—and she hesitated a little too long before crossing the room to take it. "I'm so sorry, Danny."

"For what?"

The question was genuine; he wasn't acting. He had no idea what she was apologizing for. Her father must not have told him. "I stood there while he shot you."

"You shouldn't have even been there." His tone kept the rebuke gentle, but still drew the tears from her eyes.

"You could have died and I just stood there."

"You didn't just stand there, Erin." He gritted his teeth and she watched him fumble with the controls for the morphine for a second before letting it fall. "You killed the bastard."

She flinched, her eyes darting away from him until she felt his hand on her cheek. "Look at me, Erin. Most people woulda stayed hiding, and the few that came out? They wouldn't've been able to pull the trigger at all, before or after he shot me."

"You almost died, Danny." His thumb rubbed away tears as they trailed down her cheeks. "Your heart stopped; did they tell you that?" He shook his head, but she detected not even a glimmer of concern or surprise in his eyes. "I stood there, with the gun, and let him shoot you."

He pressed a finger to her lips to silence her. "Dad and Doctor Keller asked me what I remembered, and it took me a second. But—I didn't pass out right away, Erin. I was lying there, wondering why I wasn't dead yet. What he was waiting for." His hand slipped from her cheek to lift her chin. "I've almost died lots of times, Erin. But if you hadn't been there, I would've. You hear me?"

"Danny—"

"I let this guy get to you, Erin." He held her firmly, forcing her to meet his eyes. "If I'd nailed him then, none of this woulda ever happened, okay? So the responsibility for this starts and ends with me, all right? You did more than anyone else could've expected, Erin. You are not the reason I'm lying here, okay?"

He released her and stroked his hand down the back of her head before leaning back; he gritted his teeth as he moved, and Erin stood and helped him. He accepted without protest, letting her get him settled back against the pillows.

Eyes closed and face tight with pain—and his hands nowhere near the controls for the morphine drip—he said, "You tell anybody I said this and I'll never talk to you again."

"What?"

"First time I killed somebody, I damn near pissed my pants. And about a half hour later, I _did_ throw up. I didn't sleep that night." He grimaced and shifted, lifting his lower back from the bed for a minute or two, eyes closed the whole time. "And then I got blind drunk the next night." He finally cracked his eyes at her. "I mean it. Nobody knows that."

"You got a lot of secrets, don't you, Danny?"

She barely made out the soft, "Too many" he managed before he drifted back to sleep.

#

Danny kept his eyes closed for a few minutes after waking. It was the first time he could recall waking up to silence save for the electronic beep of the monitors. There wasn't usually a lot of conversation, save for his wife or sister talking to him, but he usually heard some sort of noise—even just the rustle of fabric or the soft slide as Linda turned the pages of whatever trashy romance novel she was reading. Maybe it was late. Maybe he was alone.

No, not alone. When he finally did open his eyes he found Linda in her usual chair, her head down on the bed beside his arm, her eyes closed. Asleep, the worry lines on her face had relaxed. She looked calm, at ease. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her look like that, and he felt sick thinking of all the pain he'd caused her—caused them all.

Danny lifted his hand, intending to stroke her hair. But the slight movement was enough to wake her. He regretted it the second she stirred; she deserved, no doubt needed, the rest.

"Hey, babe." His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears; he could just imagine how it sounded to her.

She blinked slowly and offered him a sleepy smile as she reached across for the ever-present cup of ice chips. She tipped a few onto his tongue. "Hey. How you feeling?"

His body ached, but it was tolerable as long as he didn't move around too much. His eyes flicked toward the morphine dripping into his veins. "Pretty good, actually." Replace one drug with another. That was a recipe for success. "When's the last time you went home?"

Linda waved a hand dismissively, which told him he wasn't going to like the answer. "Put the boys to bed last night. They keep asking when they can come see you." She stroked her hand over his hair and pressed a kiss gently against his chapped lips. "They miss you."

"I miss them too." He reached over to scratch at the bandage on his shoulder. The irritation was worse than the pain, sometimes. "When can they come in?"

"As soon as they move you out of ICU. Doctor Keller says another couple of days, just to be safe." Linda dropped back into her chair and intertwined their fingers. "They can't wait. I think they're sick of my mother."

"Don't blame 'em." His wife mimed smacking him but he caught her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I know this isn't what you signed up for, babe."

"You don't think sitting in a hospital while my husband recovers from nearly being shot to death was my life's ambition?" The corners of her lips quirked upward and she gave a little nod. "Well, you're right about that."

"That goes without saying." He kept silent until she had to look over at him. "I meant, dealing with all my problems. Having a drunk for a husband."

"Danny, honey." She caught his hand in both of hers. "All you need to worry about right now is getting better; everything else can wait."

"I got nothing to do but lay in this bed and sleep and think, Linda," he said quietly. "My knuckles are still bruised from hitting Jamie's jaw. He's still got a black eye. All that crap didn't go away just because I went and almost got myself killed."

"There are more important things right now."

That was Linda; it was one of the things he loved about her. The guys at work—so many of them had wives who rode their asses about the hours they put in, or not calling when they said they would. And Linda'd give it to him if he got out of line, for sure. But most of the time she understood. She knew what the job involved, and that while nobody would die if he called her at eleven instead of ten, someone might have if he'd taken the time and called her at ten.

"Erin's stalker's dead. I'm not—not for lack of trying. Erin'll be okay. What's more important right now than my wife and kids being afraid of me?" He licked his lips, or tried to; his mouth was bone dry.

"Don't call yourself a drunk, Danny," she finally said, her voice soft.

He pressed his lips together and swallowed thickly, finding it a little hard to breathe normally. "Alcoholic, then." Her eyes brimmed with tears as she nodded. "It's more than you should have to deal with. Every day I wonder why you're still here, why you haven't just kicked my ass to the curb."

"I meant it when I said for better or worse." She blinked, and a couple of stray tears tracked down her cheeks. "And I know there's been a lot of worse, lately. It's been a hard couple of years. But we've had an awful lot of better, too. And if you think I'm gonna cut and run when it gets tough, Danny Reagan, then you don't know me very well at all."

"I know you're not gonna cut and run," he murmured, emotion roughening his voice. "I don't want you afraid of me, Linda. I don't want to be that guy."

"You could never be that guy, Danny." She leaned into him, running her fingers through his hair, and gave him a watery smile.

He didn't return it. "I'm getting there."

"You have problems; I'm not denying that." She kissed him gently, and then rested her forehead against his. "All I want right now is for you to promise you'll get some help, okay? And not just for me, or the boys, or your dad. I want you to do it for you. Because you don't deserve to hurt this much, and I can't help you like you need."

"I promise." Throat tight, he could barely force the words out. He ignored the pain lancing through his shoulder and back as he wrapped his arms awkwardly around her, pulling her as close as the hospital bed would allow. "I love you so much, Linda."

"Don't you ever do this to me again," she whispered, her voice choked as he felt tears on his face; he didn't know if they were hers, or his. "I love you, too."

#

"Everything all right?"

Danny started at the sound of his father's voice, just seconds after Linda had slipped out of his room. He dragged a hand over his face before accepting the tissue his dad held out, and nodded. "We're good. I, uh, I told her I'd get some help. Stop drinking, you know…" He knew his father still needed to hear him say it, but those three words scared him almost as much as being on the wrong end of Mitchell Sloane's .357. "That I'm an alcoholic."

The world didn't end; his father barely reacted at all, which Danny appreciated. "Glad to hear it."

His dad took the chair Linda had left empty, pulling it back a few feet. He sat silently, expectantly, waiting—for what, Danny didn't know. Maybe nothing at all.

"When Keller mentioned the scars—you weren't surprised."

"No." His father gave him a short nod. "They had you on your stomach to give your back a chance to heal; I saw them then." His hesitation made Danny nervous. "But the truth is that I've known for a while."

"How?"

"Linda. Not too long after you got back from your second tour, she mentioned them to me. She knew what they probably meant, and she asked me what to do."

Danny's stomach clenched. Linda—and his father—had known, for years, that he'd been tortured in Iraq. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"For the same reason I told her not to. I waited, and hoped that sooner or later, you'd come to us. We couldn't force it; you needed to come to it in your own time." His dad leaned forward, hands clasped, and Danny flinched at the raw emotion in his eyes. "Danny, I was never a POW, but I saw men who were, and I saw how they dealt with it. Some shut down completely, which is what we were dealing with, with you when you first got home. Some turn to alcohol, or drugs."

"Me again," Danny murmured.

"And still others take their own lives." The knot in Danny's stomach was almost unbearable and he opened his mouth to protest, though his father silenced him with a look. "When you weren't talking, when you started drinking—we could see you were in pain. We knew you were suffering. You were… and I use the term loosely, coping, in your own way. And I was afraid that pushing you to talk about something that you weren't ready to talk about—that it would make things worse, but that we wouldn't be able to tell."

"You may not win an Academy Award, Danny, but you're a good actor. And I feared that if we pressed, you'd put up a front, right up until the pain was so unbearable that you had only one way out." He leaned back, finally, and Danny felt like he could breathe again—a little. "Maybe I did you a disservice by not making you talk to me, or to your wife. I don't know, and I probably never will. But faced with a son suffering so badly from something I couldn't protect you from—I did the best I could, Danny. And I'm sorry that at times it hasn't been enough."


	27. Chapter 27

**Allie -**Yay! Thank you!

**Allison -** Plenty more stories to come, don't you worry! I have more ideas than I know what to do with!

**A/N** - And we come to the end, short and sweet. Thank you so much to everyone who's read and reviewed this from the beginning. I am fickle when it comes to my fandom interests, but a loyal fan following certainly helps keep me on task. I have a lot of stories left to write, and you all are really encouraging me to keep going, so thank you so much for all your kind words.

I'm going to post the first chapter of my new story, _Missing_, which will be listed under the Crossovers, as it involves NCIS. So make sure to go look for it!**  
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**Epilogue**

Danny stepped around Erin to set the salad bowl down on the near end of the dining table, and stopped short. Rather than wine glasses at the adults' places—except for his own—goblets already poured with iced tea sat at every chair. His sister must have seen him looking, because he felt her arm circle his waist, very careful of his still-healing back.

"A show of Reagan family solidarity," she murmured into his ear, rising onto her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"You don't need—"

"We want to. It's not entirely a selfless gesture," she admitted, drawing back and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I, personally, would feel like a complete ass drinking in front of my newly sober brother." She looked him in the eyes. "And it was Jamie's idea, by the way. A good one, I might add."

Danny glanced past her toward the kitchen, where his wife and brother were trying not to trip over each other mixing the spaghetti and finishing up the garlic bread. Neither of them looked in his direction. Erin's hand on his arm drew his focus back. "We're proud of you, Danny. There's not a lot we can do to help. This is something we can do; let us, okay?"

Before he could respond, he felt himself gently pushed aside. "Weren't you told to take it easy?" Jamie asked, guiding him toward a chair, not allowing Danny to protest. "Take a load off, old man."

His brother's easy tone hadn't quite returned, just as the haunted look in Erin's eyes hadn't quite disappeared. Danny's own guilt at what he'd done to his brother, what he'd failed to do for his sister, was still alive and well. But they were trying to move on, trying to forgive him, and both his father and his soon-to-alcoholics anonymous sponsor, a vice detective named Jimmy Morrison, had stressed the importance of trying to forgive himself.

"I'd like to say a few words, since this is our first Sunday dinner with Danny in over a month," his father said, once Linda had managed to herd the boys to the table. "It's been a trying few weeks—I suppose, a trying few years, depending on how far back you'd like to go. And I don't mind admitting that there were a few moments, maybe more than a few, where I wondered if we'd ever find ourselves sitting around this table, like this, again."

The boys were silent. Linda had explained to them that Daddy had been badly hurt and that they needed to go easy on him. Then she'd been stuck trying to tell them what near-fatal meant, when they'd seen the nightly news story about his shooting, accompanied by a prominent photo of their dad.

"But here we are, together, alive and mostly well." His father's gaze lingered a while on Erin, and then longer on Danny. "And I would just like to say how grateful I am for that. I know we all try not to take things like this for granted, not anymore." Joe had changed that for them all. "But we're only human, after all." His father reached for Erin's hand on one side, and then Danny's on the other, and they slowly joined hands all around the table. "Danny, if you wouldn't mind saying grace."


End file.
